Only Time will Tell
by RedLillies
Summary: Time-Travel AU. Emphasising: AU. During the Final Battle, Hermione is ripped from her time and sent into another. Is she forced to stay in the past and how will she cope? Only time will tell... (Contains some Dumbledore Bashing but not much)
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any sort of profit from this hobby. All rights are reserved for J. K. Rowling

 **Only Time Will Tell**

Prologue: _Of the Battle_

 **'PART I: THE BEGINNING'**

By

 **RedLillies**

"Older men declare war. But it is youth that must fight and die."  
― **Herbert Hoover**

 **May 2nd, 1998**

The liquid splashed loudly as she ran through a puddle of blood. It coated everything: the floor, the bodies littered on the ground, the walls, the people still fighting for their lives. It streamed like a flourishing river over the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Screams adorned the rushing sound of blood filling the courtyard. They reverberated against the walls, making them louder, multiplying them until their bones were drumming to the sound. It surrounded her in an all-encompassing bubble. The tortured screams, however, could be heard above all others, the pitch and the anguish standing in contrast, drawing attention to themselves.

The stench of death reached her nostrils, making her gag as the tendrils of death tried to enter her body.

She narrowly avoided the burning body of one of her younger classmates as she shouted a spell at the creatures that tried to maul someone in a corner.

Her friends, classmates and teachers were fighting and dying all around her. They dropped like flies, one by one, to the ground littered with death. No one was safe. No one could comprehend what was happening around them. They were all moving on pure adrenaline. They were not understanding, that when they stood on a body or when their boots splashed on the blood littered ground, it could just as well have been their loved ones.

They did not get the time to mourn the fallen. It happened too fast. One went down and then another fell, you looked to you right and your friend was being mauled to death, the other burned alive.

Hermione covered her mouth with her left hand to protect herself from hyperventilating.

Just breath in and breath out, she thought to herself while almost choking on a sob. Harry, Ron and she decided to split up not too long ago, thinking that they could cover more ground. Oh, how she regretted that now.

''Expelliarmus,'' she screamed.

One of the Death Eaters that she hit passed out by the force of the spell. One down, hundreds more to go, ''Stupefy. Flipendo!''

The sky was now a burnt red and orange from the smoke and explosions. It seemed as if hell had personally opened her portal on this very ground, trying to suck them all in. The ground that was once sacred for all was now a cemetery.

The ache in her bones, the tiredness and the desperation, started to settle deep into her brain and her muscles, willing her to slow down. But she didn't have a choice. She had to go on.

She looked on as more beasts and Death Eaters streamed through the front gates. How many more forces does this man, no, monster have? They were everywhere. Giants, werewolves, dementors, vampires...

She couldn't get the haze and smoke out of her eyes. The blood that dripped down her face, obscured her vision even more.

''Protego!''

Hermione put up her shield just quick enough to protect herself from a cutting curse. Her sudden movements caused her already open wounds to bleed, even more, to tear even further. She hissed and sucked in a breath as another cutting curse hit her thigh.

She pivoted around and hid quickly behind a pillar, hiding from the battle for only a moment. Hermione perused the area, searching desperately for one of her loved ones that might still be alive.

She saw many of the people she held dear - but not alive, no, not anymore. They were scattered in pieces. The ones that had gotten mercy and a quick death were stacked upon piles of bodies and their once living eyes unseeing: Tonks, Remus, Kingsley, Ron - Oh Ron - Fred, Luna, Lavender, Parvati...

Hermione shook her head and hid cruelly behind a pile of bodies as she darted from behind the pillar with a new mission on her mind. She ducked her head above the pile and lay her grime-covered hands on top of the bodies, searching for something to hold on to and to not fall back down.

 _Get to Harry_ , her mind supplied, _Get to Harry, you idiot. NOW!_

''Will it ever stop,'' she voiced breathlessly to no one.

 _HARRY! Only Harry. Think of Harry! Don't give up!_

She ducked quickly behind the pile once more as a curse flew over her head. The magical energy tingled as it narrowly touched her hair, leaving a sizzling sound in its wake.

 _Way to close. That was way too close, Hermione._

She looked unexpectedly to the left, to the doors of the Great Hall, and her breathing stopped. In the doorway hang the rest of the Weasley family, ropes tied around their necks, their bodies slain open. They were strung up, proudly, each with 'Blood Traitor' carved into their bodies. She looked down and collected herself, trying to stop the bile that rose dangerously high in her throat.

 _Don't get side-tracked, Hermione. Please, don't do it. He needs your help. Come on, you can mourn later._

Everyone was dead. All she had was Harry. At this very moment, he was what mattered most to her. For her to life to be bearable, only Harry needed to survive. He was her only string of hope, of happiness. She needed him alive, if only for selfish reasons.

He was her top priority ever since they had become friends. The sweet and gentle boy. They were once 'The Golden Trio'. _Not anymore_ , thought Hermione sadly.

In a span of a day, they went from a trio to a duo. Oh, how the once hated name brought her such happiness in this very moment, such longing to easier times.

She saw the numbers of the resistance dwindle more and more as she arrived in the courtyard. Hermione looked wildly around the battlefield, searching desperately for a mop of black hair.

Once she spotted Harry duelling Voldemort, she ran towards him, hoping to cover his back. She had just stepped outside from the safety of the marble stone before she was spiralling back into the brick wall of Hogwarts as two powerful Cruciatus Curses hit her in her legs.

Her own screams now matched the once around her, adding to the chaotic magic that their choir made. She welcomed the feeling of the curse into her body. The pain seeped from her skin into her muscles, into her bones, into the very atoms of her being.

Suddenly, it stopped. She breathed in a huge breath, letting her lungs fill with air once more. She opened her eyes cautiously, waiting to see the devil himself. Her eyes focused on the deranged form of Bellatrix Lestrange looming once more over her. Antonin Dolohov, not far behind her.

''Hello, love.'' She heard Dolohov's voice breathless and laden with excitement. She squeezed her eyes shut as he darted his face right into her own. She could smell the foul stench that emitted itself from the man's mouth.

''Antonin, Come here, now.'' Bellatrix Lestrange ordered her friend harshly, ''We're going to have a little fun, aren't we filth?''

 _No, no, no this can't be happening_ , she thought desperately.

''Let's play a little game, my darling mudblood,'' said Bellatrix cruelly, venom dripping from her tone, ''last time was so exciting! Pity we were interrupted then. But don't worry, filth, we will catch up again, and this time, you won't have your fickle little house-elf saving your worthless hide.'' Bellatrix hissed.

Hermione felt tremors going through her body. She was so scared. She didn't want to leave Harry, she had to help him. Helplessness started creeping into her body before being violently shoved down.

She felt Dolohov caressing her face, hungrily, with one of his hands, ''Don't worry love, we will have so much fun,'' he stated mockingly before he backed away, ''well at least I will.''

Hermione felt bile coming up her throat. _No, no, no Hermione get your arse up. Now is not the time to be an obedient bitch. Stand up!_

''What a fucking pity then, that I will not feel the sick and demented pleasure in torturing that you do. Fuck you,'' she spat in their direction.

''Shut up,'' Bellatrix shrieked, her ire rising. Bellatrix face, however, changed rapidly as she saw Hermione looking behind her making sure that Harry was all right. ''Well, well, the Gryffindor has finally grown a backbone. But it won't matter will it, when the Dark Lord kills your little Harriekins, your Chosen One?''

Hermione's eyes locked with those of the woman with a defiant glint in her eyes and kept her mouth firmly shut. Before she knew it, she was hit with two Crucios at the same time. Her screams once more adding to the horrifying choir of shrieks.

''Not going to happen,'' she said through clenched teeth as she felt the effects of Dolohov's curse seep into every nerve in her body.

Her fingers curled around her wand. ''Bombarda,'' she cried in her head and watched with relief as Bellatrix and Dolohov were thrown against a collapsing wall, their bodies crushed to death with the added weight.

Hermione felt neither satisfaction nor sadness as she saw her tormentors die. Her friends and family had gotten much worse.

She picked herself up with trouble, her legs trembling heavily. She started to walk to Harry once more but was stopped halfway by an invisible force. She pushed and pushed but could neither go forward nor backwards. She was the only one standing still in one place as curses zoomed over her head.

Hermione was about to scream Harry's name when she saw him drop dead to the ground. She was now the only one left. The only one of the resistance. Her hope, her sun, fell to the ground surrounded by darkness.

She wanted to run to him, to scream in agony, clutch his body to her own, hold him for dear life, willing him to come back to her. But she couldn't. Oh, how her heart tore itself apart - how her soul tore itself apart when she could not do those things; her feet still planted firmly to the ground.

Suddenly, there was a bright white light and she felt hands pushing her down. Her body landed harshly on the ground, breaking her wrist in the process. As she heard the well resounding crack, she let out a tortured scream. She felt her body tremble as she sobbed loudly, feeling herself being dragged away by her feet, climbing higher and higher in the air and letting her see the battlefield, the devastation, from above.

She heard multiple voices at once in her mind, making her brain throb with the force and power behind the words of those, ''Go to the land of sacred Forests. Summon her spirit with the words of invocation. She will show you exactly what needs to be done, and she expects you to follow through once shown. Be our champion. You have only one chance. Triumph.''

Rursus in unum deducere, quod tempus tribuitur, ut a recto loco suo. Electus est quaerere.

Rursus in unum deducere, quod tempus tribuitur, ut a recto loco suo. Electus est quaerere.

The nerves in her body exploded with agony and her muscles felt scorched as if being consumed by Hellfire. Every atom felt like it was being ripped to shreds with the burning that tore at her from within.

Then there was silence.

But the pain remained, leaving her screaming in the air, before embracing the darkness.

* * *

Time is such a precious thing. It is one of the oldest and complex magics, and as such, there is an entire room devoted to it in the Department of Mysteries, The Time Room. Time-travel, however, is complicated and unpredictable, volatile and dangerous.

No one ever can, or will, comprehend the effects that it could have on one's person as best as Hermione. The stress, the drain, it wasn't as glamorous as it was painted. It was a strain. Physically and mentally.

Time is wobbly and uncertain in many different ways. With every decision, you jump from consequence to consequence. From branch to branch, based on the decisions that you make - that you instigate. But how will it be when the decisions are ripped out of your hands, from your free will? What will happen when the volatile magic of Fate and Time mix, both combined of different energies - energies that clash violently when mixed.

But really, only Time will tell...


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any sort of profit from this hobby. All rights are reserved for J. K. Rowling

 **Only Time Will Tell**

I: _Warm Welcome_

By

 **RedLillies**

"I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I needed to be."  
― **Douglas Adams**

 **May 3** **rd** **, 1975**

The Waxing Moon shone its pearly white sheen on the earth below. Her wink sent the world as we knew it in a new stage. She attracted many things that night: spells, positive change, good luck, growth and new beginnings. She represented the Goddess in her Maiden aspect, gave praise to Epona, Artemis or one of the other Maiden Goddesses. Oh, how the Wizarding World was going to burn with this new arrival. May the darkness burn to the ground and the light prevail.

 _'...as the moon waxes and wanes,_

 _and walks three nights in darkness,_

 _so the Goddess once spent three nights_

 _in the kingdom of Death.'_

•

It was the beginning of the End of Term Feast when every student was in attendance. Each house table had all the years sitting together and conversing, talking about their upcoming summers, their summer homework, relationships and many things more.

At the Gryffindor table sat a group of friends. They have been friends since their first year and were inseparable. They called themselves the Marauders. Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew and James Potter or as they were known among each other; Messrs Moony, Padfoot, Wormtail and Prongs. Every year before their departure, the Headmaster would speak a few words. This time it was no different.

 _Watch and learn, Children. Let the Heavens open; let us come swooping down and begin our chaos and reign…_

The Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, scraped his chair back and slowly stood to look upon his students.

''The end,'' said Dumbledore, looking around at them all morosely, ''of another year.'' He paused and his eyes looked at each House table respectively.

''There is much that I would like to say to you all tonight before you are befuddled by the excellent food of our Feast,'' Dumbledore paused a little before he continued, ''While the tension in the world around us may grow each day, we must appreciate the ones around us. The Ministry of Magic does not want me to tell you this. However, not do so is an insult to their memory. It feels unjust to their memory. Not only to you but especially the fallen outside of our safe castle walls.'' The children all looked on with rapt attention at what he was going to say next.

''Now this situation reminds me of something we have only felt during the times of Grindelwald. There is an upcoming darkness that will try to claim everything and everyone in its path.'' Dumbledore's eyebrows pulled together in a frown but schooled his face immediately, trying futile, to not seem affected.

''And that reminds me, and, reminds us, that though we may come from different countries and speak in different tongues, our hearts beat as one. In light of recent events by non-other than Lord Voldemort, the bonds of friendship, either made this year or long withstanding, will be more important than ever. Soon we must all face between what is right and what is easy.''

The Hall let out a shuddering breath as Dumbledore sat down and the food appeared on the tables.

''Wow, that was some speech,'' remarked James, ''Do you think that after this speech Evans will finally give into dating me?'' he asked jokingly, trying to lighten the mood of his friends while looking longingly at the girl whom he was talking about.

''Sure, Prongs,'' Sirius quickly went along, ''I wish you the best of luck. Don't you remember when she told you not even a couple days ago that she would rather go out with a squid than you? Ouch. That does still hurt, doesn't it?''

Sirius winked at his bespectacled friend, ''It probably doesn't help that you're shite in facial Transfiguration or you could transfigure yourself into a squid. Maybe then Evans will consider giving you a chance, he? Where does your infatuation with Evans even come from? Just a couple of weeks ago you announced that you were going to woo her just for jokes." Sirius' eyes went comically wide, "No! – does someone have a little crush? Oh, how our little boy is all grown up Moony!'' Sirius said in a dramatic voice, quite similar to that of a maiden's teasing tone.

''Shut up, Padfoot and eat your chicken legs. It's not as if anyone can resist my good looks or great personality. I just have to convince her more. Maybe a poem with some flowers will help…'' James trailed off.

''Prongs, why do you even try? She is brutal to you!'' Remus looked a little troubled before he continued, ''If you're serious – don't even try Padfoot! – about it, then why don't you consider being more considerate? I mean, professing your love on a table, is impressive and all, but she clearly doesn't see your effort in your gesture, even if you want to grab another girl's attention. I mean, I'm all for it but why don't we change it up a little? Call the witch by her first name? They're just some suggestions.'' Remus finished with a wink and a toothless grin showing that he was just messing with James.

''Wow, great insight Moony. But there is one little problem. James has as much tact as a chicken without legs.''

Sirius tried to be supportive, he really did. But he couldn't help but feel a little resentment towards Evans. Even though it was a new development, couldn't she be a bit more considerate of the bloke's feelings? Okay, he did have to agree that the joke and slight infatuation was slowly turning into an obsession of getting Evans to date James, yet... Sirius shrugged and let it his mind join the living world again.

''Hey, why all the comparisons with animals? It's not as if I look like one!'' James cried out passionately.

His hands waved wildly with his fork and knife still in his hand, sending pieces of food flying in different directions. A collective groan of the Gryffindor table could be heard throughout the hall as those same pieces landed on peoples plates.

''Sorry.'' Said James with a slight blush and handsome smile.

''Well you had me fooled there, my _deer_ James…'' However, Sirius did not get to say more as they suddenly heard screaming from the Slytherin table.

Everyone looked at once at the Slytherins and gasped in shock. A girl, unconscious, covered in grime and blood, clutching her wand desperately, was lying on the table. Her hair matted to her face, while her body seemed fragile and underweight. Dumbledore rose from the teacher's table and walked swiftly over to the Slytherins. McGonagall trailed behind him and sent a Patronus to Madam Pomfrey. She felt for a pulse and nodded wordlessly.

The Headmaster conjured a white sheet and lay it over the girl, all the while levitating her to the Infirmary. The moment the unusual trio left, people started whispering; asking around how the girl could have fallen through the ceiling or if someone recognized her. The situation was all the more intense, especially after such a foreboding speech from the Headmaster not even a half hour ago.

And so the rumour-mill started. Stating that she was a dark witch, to that she was sent as a warning to Dumbledore. The Marauders looked at one another and nodded. They would get James' invisibility cloak and visit the infirmary when everyone was asleep.

The teachers finally shot out of their stupor and tried to reign the students in. Everyone was immediately sent to his or her own House dormitories. While the Prefects kept close attention to little nooks and crannies, expecting something to pop up again. Most of the Gryffindors stayed silent, no one was up for talking. While everyone was silently wondering if this was a bad omen, Sirius wondered who the girl was and what she did to be so cruelly abused.

•

Dumbledore looked at the girl lying in the bed of the Hospital Wing while Madam Pomfrey tutted around her, ''Who would do such a thing?'' she muttered angrily, ''Poor girl. Albus, you don't think that she was attacked? She's so young!'' Madam Pomfrey stated outraged.

''We will only know when the girl wakes up. I will see if anyone has been missing lately. Will you get me when she wakes up?''

''Of course Albus.''

And with that, Albus Dumbledore walked away.

•

White. That's all she saw. Bright white light. _Why couldn't it be another colour?_ Then she remembered. The Final Battle, everyone dying, corpses and blood all around her, being ripped away from the scene. Suddenly she started feeling the same agonizing pain again. She gave a blood-curling scream and started sobbing.

''Poppy!'' Screamed Dumbledore from the chair beside her. Madam Pomfrey ran from her office into the Hospital Wing and started giving her potions.

''Shh. It'll be okay,'' she tried to comfort the poor girl.

 _It hurts so much_ , Hermione thought.

''Everything will be all right'' Said Pomfrey softly.

Finally, the excruciating pain stopped. Hermione sighed, closed her eyes in gratitude, and succumbed to darkness again.

''Oh poor girl. How did you get such terrible wounds,'' Pomfrey said to herself as Hermione fell into a restless sleep, ''You're lucky you're still alive.''

''Could you please list her wounds, Poppy?'' asked Dumbledore, ending her one-sided conversation.

''Of course, Albus. She has a mild concussion, three broken ribs with one rib that punctured her liver, the bones in her left arm are completely shattered as well as the bones in her right leg, and she has several deep scars. Old and new ones. One goes all the way from right shoulder to her left hipbone, which comes from an unknown dark curse. I estimate that it is at least two years old but is otherwise completely treated.

''In addition, she has several gashes and burn marks on her back and has the after-effects of a prolonged Cruciatus Curse and an unknown torture curse. She is severely malnourished as if she hasn't eaten in months. Lastly, she has a scar on her left lower arm," the woman's breath caught in her throat before continuing, "Albus, it can't be true, look.'' Dumbledore gasped in shock as the Medi-witch lifted the sheet.

Little did they now that a group of four boys stood under an invisibility cloak listening to their conversation and watching the scene from afar.

''What the hell? How the fuck did that happen to her?'' James asked his friends when they were a little away from the Hospital Wing. His eyes were wide and questioning.

''I don't know Prongs, but someone definitely had it out for her'' said Remus quietly.

Sirius was staring mindlessly into the air and walked away towards the Court Yard, ''I think I'm going for a walk.''

''Come on guys let's see what's wrong with Pads,'' replied Remus gently.

The trio turned around and walked the same way their friend went. ''But who is she guys? Oh, could we get something to eat in the meantime?''

''Not know, Wormy,'' said Remus with a frown on his face while looking at the blond boy.

''I think Pads blames himself,'' said James after a moment of silence, ''because he knows what the Death Eaters are capable of. Especially, in what state the girl arrived. He could be remembering something. It could be that he compares himself to his family. Even though the notion is ridiculous! I mean come on, he is nothing like them!'

The two boys contemplated the statement and continued walking in silence as James broke out in a run in front of them.

•

Sirius marched angrily down the slope of the courtyard muttering quietly to himself. ''Pads – Padfoot! What's wrong?'' Shouted James behind him while trying to catch up.

Sirius himself didn't know why seeing the mangled girl set him off so much. It could be because it reminded him of the lessons he was forced to take as a child by his father and mother.

He was forced to torture house-elves and the occasional muggles his parents brought home to practice on. He could still hear the screams and pleadings of the people as his parents stood proudly watching him. Could it be the frustration that he felt by not being able or allowed to help because people did not trust him? Could it be because he was born a Black?

Does a name really defy who you are? Shouldn't your actions and your behaviour reflect who you are as a person?

 _The world has got people with both light and dark inside of them. What matters is the part they choose to act on_ , He thought helplessly.

Can you condemn a man to prejudice simply because his family is on the wrong side of the equation – the wrong side of the war? Didn't it matter to people that he was different, that he stood up for what he thought was right?

He was a Gryffindor. He chose to associate himself with light families, to be one. He desperately tried to let people know he was not the same, not the same child that he was forced to be. He was not prejudiced. He did not believe in blood purity. But how could he explain all his inner turmoil to someone who has it all? A loving family, no judgment from the first glance, the suspicious glint in their eyes when people hear his name. All these thoughts ran through his mind. He simply could not explain it to people who judged him too quickly. He could not convey the helplessness he felt towards his life, his name, but he tried and he held it inside him until eventually, he would just snap and break into hysterics.

He walked past the Black Lake to their favourite beech tree. The moon and the stars where shining happily in the night sky and the moon looked on. Sirius turned around trying to vent his frustration. It was beginning to be too much for him. He pivoted around and his fist came in contact with the bark of the tree. His skin split open. He did not stop until they were bloodied and raw. He barely felt the pain. He sobbed without abandon, a raw scream coming out of his pained throat.

''Why did you do that? Bloody hell, Pads,'' said James who finally caught up with him while eying him nervously.

''I just don't know what to do any more Prongs. That girl we just saw – who is currently laying in agonizing pain, who clearly from what we just saw barely survived – barely Prongs! That could be anyone! It could just as well be someone close to us." Sirius' hands flew to his hair, holding it tightly at the roots, before letting them go.

''Yes, we are safe within these walls but how many people are dying daily just because they can't stop a madman, because of the people who do his bidding, who follow him blindly! People who conform to the Dark Arts for fun, torturing people for fun. This is not some fairytale with a hero who will come to save the day. Who will stand up to Voldemort if no one else will?" He looked at James with wide terrified eyes.

''Do you know how it feels when you know that the people behind those masks are your family, the same persons you looked up to as an infant? No, you don't. It is heartbreaking to know that the once – illusion – I had of a normal functioning family, have turned into sociopathic murderers, kissing a lunatic's feet.'' Sirius finished meekly, his breath laboured.

James kept looking nervously at him. ''Pads, I do understand… ''

''No you don't know how this feels!'' Sirius shouted frustrated and angry, ''I feel the nervousness and wariness of people when I introduce myself. Do you know how it feels when you are compared to the same people who have screwed you over countless times as a child? What if I do become like them, what if I finally succumb to the darkness that my so-called parents tried to drill into my brain? I don't want to be like them.''

James could only look on as his brother in all but blood broke down into sobs, ''Pads, it should not matter what those strangers think of you. You have me, Moony, Peter – we are your brothers, we will always stand by you. When you need us, you only need to turn around and we will be by your side. The only ones you should be worried about to impress is yourself. You should not be concerned by the fact that you think you are or could turn dark."

He hesitated before continuing, ''Take a look at yourself from an outsider's perspective – mine if you will. We all see you as someone who is loyal to a fault, who will stand by the ones who have his approval and is willing to make the same mistakes as them just to support them, to stand by their sides. That makes you, you. That makes the Sirius Black I know. Shouldn't it be more important what you think of yourself? Don't pay attention to them! You are my brother, Pads. That will never change.''

With that their argument came to an end and they both fell silent and sat down on the ground with their backs to the bark of the tree, looking up at the night sky, waiting for their other two best friends to arrive.

•

When Hermione gained consciousness, once more, the sun was forming her colourful shades of dusk. She opened her eyes and frowned at the ceiling. She was numb. Her entire body was numb. She could have sworn she saw Dumbledore shouting for Madam Pomfrey or was it all a hallucination, a figment of her imagination.

No, it felt too real. She tried to sit up and succeeded partially. The rational side of her brain screamed at her that something was not right but Hermione stubbornly ignored that inner voice. If this were the price for ignorance and unawareness, she would pay for it.

She lay in her bed watching the world peacefully come alive through the window across her bed. It was as if Madam Pomfrey could hear her thoughts and walked towards her as if she knew she was being summoned.

''Good morning Miss, how are you feeling,'' she asked cautiously, ''Do you feel any pain?''

Hermione looked at her and frowned. This was not the same Madam Pomfrey that she remembered. She looked younger. Something wasn't right. Finally, the rational side of her mind came through the haze that was now her brain.

''Have we won?'' asked Hermione in a quiet voice, forgetting the last couple moments of the Battle.

''What do you mean, love, won?''

''The Battle. The one at Hogwarts,'' Hermione was silent for a moment before she started hyperventilating, remembering it all, ''HARRY – Harry bring him back… please bring him back. Ron, everyone – they left me alone… PLEASE bring them back! I can't… I can't. HE KILLED THEM ALL!'' Her voice was raw and agonizing and her throat burned as her emotions came to life.

''K-Killed? Who was killed? What are you talking about? There never was a battle here! The last battle was around the time of the Founders.''

Hermione could only look on wide-eyed at the nurse, ''No-No…NO you were dead Madam Pomfrey. I saw you! The whole Hospital Wing was gone. Where am I, what's going on? How can I be at Hogwarts,'' she asked oddly, changing the subject on a whim, ''Hogwarts is destroyed! Crumbled! There's nothing left of it! He demolished it! How can I be here?''

''He who, child? Calm down, dear! What is going on with you?''

Madam Pomfrey thrust a couple potions towards Hermione. Hermione looked doubtfully at them but did not stand a chance against the Healer, who forcefully shoved the potions down Hermione's throat.

''Child, wait here and don't move. I'm going to get the Headmaster."

''Wait – Headmaster?'', Hermione asked changing her demeanour rapidly, her attention rapt, yet stoic, as if she was trying to suppress hope.

Madam Pomfrey replied with a soothing tone in her voice, not wanting her patient to go into hysterics again, ''Yes, Albus Dumbledore. He'll know what to do.''

''Headmaster Dumbledore is dead! I don't understand what you're SAYING!'' Hermione screamed, holding her mattress tightly in an effort to calm herself.

''Just wait here, child. I will go and get him.''

The Headmaster walked through the doors of the infirmary with his sparkling blue robes. The moment he stood in front of her bed, he peered over his all too familiar half-moon glasses and his twinkling eyes on his grandfatherly face that was too young for her to properly recognize. He looked less stressed, had fewer wrinkles and had hair that was more auburn then she remembered his beard to be. He looked younger.

 _Of course, he looks younger, Hermione, this is your subconscious playing tricks on you. Clearly, your brain stayed behind on that godforsaken battlefield_ , her mind added with a cheeky tone.

''Good morning Miss, how are you feeling? That was quite the ordeal you arrived in,'' said Dumbledore kindly with curiosity tinging his voice.

Hermione did not respond. She was still in shock of the changes of this Dumbledore her mind had made up. Maybe, if she willed him to look like her Dumbledore, she'd feel safer talking about her situation. But alas, some wishes cannot be granted.

''No, I don't understand. Am I dreaming? What is happening, you are supposed to be dead! How are you alive? I attended your FUNERAL!'' Hermione cried confused. Tears slowly sliding down her face.

Dumbledore kept on watching. He himself looked disturbed – if she could convey his emotions correctly at least.

''Miss, if you would please take a deep breath and explain from the beginning. I am sure you are not dreaming. I am alive and well.'' Dumbledore looked at her with kind twinkling eyes.

''I will try, sir. Are you really not a figment of my imagination or some hallucination?''

Dumbledore nodded at her. Her arm with her wand shot up unexpectedly. Its tip pointing threateningly at his face.

''What is born from a cycle that aids us and gives us hope?''

''Excuse me?''

''Answer the question.''

''How do you know such a thing?!''

''Just answer the question!'' She all but shouted.

He looked at her, with distrust, but answered the question nonetheless, ''Fawkes, my Phoenix.''

Hermione excused herself and lowered her wand. Her mind kept telling her to shut up and not tell a word, lest she fucked up the entire timeline. _If I am in the past, that is_. However, things in the life of Hermione Granger never go as planned, so of course, her mouth couldn't help but blurt out her entire life-story.

''I can't believe I am actually telling you this, sir, but if I am correct, then I must have travelled back in time or this still is some figment of my imagination to soften the blow of realizing that I am dead. Although if I did time-travel, then I don't know to when or even HOW.'' She said softly but with passion.

''V-Voldemort was behind this. This cruel, arrogant, heartless MONSTER did this to me. He killed them all. I was the last one standing.''

''1998,'' Hermione said after some silence, ''that's where I came – or should I say will come from.'' She chuckled despondently.

''You cannot tell me the happenings of your life, Miss Granger. It will change-''

''I don't CARE if the timeline changes! I have NOTHING – absolutely NOTHING! I cannot not change it. It has to be changed!'' Hermione all but screamed.

''I was born on September 19th, 1979,'' she continued, pointedly ignoring the Headmaster's anger-flushed face, ''I grew up with muggle parents near Oxford. I was best friends with two incredible boys,'' she paused in her story, trying to gather her emotions as to not completely lose herself in the process, ''They were more my brothers than anything else. We befriended each other in our first year at Hogwarts and were all three sorted into Gryffindor. We weren't friends in the beginning but it only took a mountain-troll to bring us together. You see, I was quite a know-it-all'.

The corners of Dumbledore's mouth turned up a little, but his face remained pained.

She continued, ''The first three years were the safest for us. Harry, my best friend, was always in incredible danger and was being hunted by Voldemort. It wasn't until fourth year when we finally understood the grave danger we were in. It was the year Voldemort was resurrected, as was The Order. We were so ignorant,'' Hermione whispered with a single tear sliding down her cheek, ''Thinking that we would be mostly left out of this war but I knew better.''

She continued grief-stricken, ''I started researching everything to help Harry. Everything was about Harry – I would gladly give my life for him. Harry had this sort of connection with Voldemort where _He_ could send visions into Harry's head, intentionally or not. He got them often but the ones that had the biggest impact on him were the ones if fifth year. He had gotten two.

''The first one, was of one of the members of The Order being murdered by a giant snake. Harry saw this through the eyes of the very being that was ripping the man's flesh apart. He was shaken for days, not leaving St. Mungo's for anything. Luckily, for everyone, the man was saved. The second vision, however, was a fake. I tried to warn Harry but he was adamant that the last person alive of his family, his godfather, was being tortured in the Department of Mysteries.

''So of course, we all went with him to the Ministry to save his godfather. What we did not know was that Harry was lured into the D.O.M. for something only Harry could retrieve. Something that put the entire faith of the Wizarding world into his hands."

''We were so scared,'' Hermione wiped a tear away, ''suddenly we were ambushed. We didn't understand what was happening. We tried to fight our way out of the D.O.M. when we ran into an unknown room. Some Death Eaters had caught up with us. One of them was Dolohov. He was the one who gave me this scar,''

Hermione absentmindedly traced her scar with the tops of her fingers, ''luckily for me,'' she said with a sardonic chuckle, ''I silenced him before he said his spell. It was the only thing I could think of. I was so incredibly fortunate that I did that, or else I would not have survived the entire encounter. I was knocked out after it. So the only the only recollection I have is of waking up in the Hospital Wing in Hogwarts."

''But Harry showed me his memories from when after I had fallen. His godfather was pushed into the Veil with a stunning spell…'', Hermione said in a choked voice. She gripped her blanket a little tighter. ''Harry ran down the Hall into the Atrium when Voldemort suddenly appeared. That foul creature possessed Harry, and I still pray and thank the Gods that Harry was able to push that creature out of his head. I was – and am so proud of him."

''However Harry was distraught,'' she said weakly, her voice overridden with sorrow, ''Nobody could get him to talk and he spiralled into a depression,'' her voice tightened at the end and her face scrunched up as if she felt physical pain in her heart, ''He became obsessed with killing Voldemort and ending the war. Sixth year did not look up for him and us. A teacher repeatedly mentally raped him on your orders. And to top it all off, you were killed by the same man, teacher and spy that you so vehemently defended.

''The entire Wizarding World was lost without you. Nonetheless, we all tried to get through the weeks after your death unscathed. In what was to be our seventh year, you gave us a mission to execute. You told Harry about it minutes before you were murdered and left him as confused and alone as ever. It was the most difficult mission we ever had to execute. After all, you hadn't given us many clues."

''We starved. Sometimes had no food for a week, were abandoned by one of our own, tortured, and practically burned alive… But we made it to the end.

''May 2, 1998, will never be forgotten,'' she said, her voice finally collected as she finished the story, ''It was the Final Battle. Harry was supposed to win, but everything was so messed up. Everyone was dying around me and all I could see was blood, bodies and rubble of the remnants of Hogwarts. Everyone I knew and loved was dead. That is when I began searching desperately for Harry. Hoping, that my one true link to sanity was still alive,'' Hermione looked heaven upwards as if in prayer.

''I-I-I was so elated when I spotted him. I was so wrapped up in looking for him that I didn't see the spells coming. I suddenly was hit with multiple _Cruciatus_ curses at once. It was not the first time I was tortured. Especially by the same man and woman that scarred me respectively in my fifth and so-called seventh year, Antonin Dolohov and Bellatrix Lestrange.'' Hermione spat their names out as if they were filth on her tongue and disgust written all over her face.

''I fought them off and was ready to run to Harry, to help him, when I saw him fall dead to the ground. I could not breathe. My heart was in my throat and I almost choked on the air, trying to suffocate me."

''Voices started saying something loudly in my ear and my eyesight became blurry. I felt my heart breaking and my body crumble to the ground. It was so incredibly loud that I could not hear anything, not even my own thoughts. My nerves began to stand on edge, everything hurt. I could not think, move or see. I was anguished. I wanted him to live on, have a life he never had the chance to have…

''He lost so much, it is not FAIR! I would do anything for him. If the worst happens," her voice began determined, "I will risk the future. I will risk my life for a brighter future. I know how to defeat Voldemort. I will do it again. All for Harry.'' Hermione finished tearfully. Her body started trembling. Nothing could be heard in the Infirmary except for Hermione's sorrowful sobs.

''Miss Granger,'' Dumbledore began, ''I think you are an incredible, courageous, woman for going through something so traumatic and still wanting to go on. To think that we still need The Order in twenty plus years is beyond me. To answer your first question, today's date is the third of May 1975.''

Hermione looked up at him with her puffy eyes and gave a look of disbelieve. _Oh, Merlin, I knew that I was somehow back in time but not that far! Fuck no, the Marauders are alive in this time. How am I going to look into the faces of the ones who never got to know their future?_ Hermione's eyes widened a little before shame overtook everything in her body and turned her face towards her tightly clasped hands. _Hermione don't be selfish, think of Harry, do it for him, you will be changing it all._

Dumbledore continued, ''Secondly,'' he hesitated slightly, ''If you were to stay, there is a family who will be able to help you. A family who is associated with the Order but are not members – the Delacours. They are loyal to The Order and me. They have no children and their other living relatives have been estranged from them. They have agreed to give you shelter and magically adopt you in every sense of the word.''

Hermione's mouth stood slightly agape. Was it Appoline, the mother of Fleur and Gabrielle? Her memory swiftly brought her back to when they were on the hunt and the Order radio broadcast went on for hours at a time.

 _'_ _... comes to us this evening from the north of England, where a wizard family by the name of Delacour were found dead in their cellar. While not a member of the Order, Mr Delacour and his wife had, on numerous occasions, provided shelter for its members...'_

''But Sir, what would happen if something were to occur to me if Voldemort got wind of my actions against him? What if everything will be taken away from them because of me? How can I put the Delacour's in danger? They don't know who I am, how can they take me in without knowing who I am – without knowing if I am dangerous or not?'' Hermione said disbelievingly all in one breath, her chest heaving slightly because of it.

''My dear girl, I believe the state you arrived in spoke for its self. I am sorry if you expected more from a family who willingly want to take you in and make your life easier. We don't know if something so drastic will happen to you. Even if you were to worry about what pulled you into this time in the first place, we don't know what will happen.''

 _It could not be a time turner_ , thought Hermione, _for I would have remembered if I had one. I heard voices, so definitely not a Time-Turner. What If this is an alternate reality, what if I am changing the course of history as a whole, what if I am a glitch and I'll just experience a moment of peace before I am back on the battlefield?_

Hermione's breathing started getting laboured again, tunnel vision started setting in before she was snapped out of it by Dumbledore's voice.

''…but we can only hope that it won't happen. We shall arrange the adoption to happen once you have regained your strength. As for defeating Voldemort, I would like to know how you are willing to achieve such a goal.''

Hermione looked at him, studying him thoroughly.

''Sir, have you not listened to what I have just told you? I have beaten him before and I will do it again,'' Hermione cried indignantly, ''I do not think it wise for me to tell you such things. Have you not manipulated enough people last time around? For the Greater Good? You yourself have paved your own path.

''You have been persuaded by a curse on an object, that almost bereft you of your life; You have willingly withheld information which leads to thousands of people dying. How can I lay my trust in someone that abuses power, who has so much power, that he shouldn't be able to crave for more but still does?"

''It will happen. His downfall I mean. You don't have to worry about that but I shall do it on my terms. I will try my damn hardest so that people who didn't have the chance to live, to actually have a future. You have continuously given away your trust to people who did not deserve it in the first place!'', Hermione howled out, ''My life will be, once again, the sum of my choices, not someone else's crimes.''

''Miss Granger, those were the faults of someone who I don't even know of whom I even might possibly not even become.''

''A leopard never changes his spots,'' Hermione whispered to the angry Headmaster, ''I am sorry if I have overstepped any boundaries but this is how it will be.

''If I find that I need your help or if I find that people need to be brought in to help me or if The Order should know certain pieces of information, I will,' Hermione said after a while, having made up her mind.

''I don't want people to die,'' she said softly, ''I don't care about my life. I will gladly lay my life on the line, for mine is not import, your image, however, somehow is. People count on you, look up to you. Their hope will be gone with you, as swiftly as you would slip to the realms on your so-called 'Next Great Adventure'.''

''Miss Granger, you are foolish to believe that you can handle this on your own, that you are ready to lay your life down so easily, but I cannot stress the urgency of this situation enough. I can help you. If I don't know what is happening, how will you be helped by people who want to rescue you, if they don't know in what situation they will end up? Are you not essentially doing the same thing as you accused me of?'' Dumbledore said his face becoming flushed once more with anger.

''Have you not listened to a word I have said? I will look for help, be it from you or someone else but only if I need it! If the time comes, I will tell you, but as I said before it will be on my terms. I will not let innocents die for this. Too many lives have been lost. And no, at least I don't manipulate people's thought and actions to the point of me playing God.'' Hermione finished passionately and huffed angrily.

''Very well Miss Granger,'' Dumbledore said when he saw that he was not going to sway her, ''I will contact the Delacour's to come to Hogwarts when you have recovered. However, heed my words, dear girl, it is better to have an ally in these dark times than to be on your own. Good day, Miss Granger.''

Hermione looked on with wide eyes at the retreating back of 'the greatest Wizard to ever live since the four Founders of Hogwarts'. She felt foolish that she snapped at him but could not rein in her temper when she thought about the situation and the similarity she felt with Harry's life, to bear the world on your shoulders. She was so angry about how he treated Harry. To sacrifice Harry's life like a pig for slaughter!

 _It will be different_ , Hermione thought, _he will not have to die in the first place. He will grow up with his parents and uncles. He will be safe_.

If Dumbledore had been more forthcoming, if he hadn't used Socrates' clues to 'guide' them, maybe they could have saved so many more people – have prevented so many terrible deaths: Sirius, Cedric and the countless other Wizards, Witches and Muggles that were killed during Voldemort's rises to power.

 _You can do this Hermione_ , she thought to herself, _You have done this before and you can do it again. The only difference is that you are all alone in this one. No Harry and no Ron_.

And with that, Hermione began to cry, for she realized she would never have the same relationships with them again. She would never be part of the 'Golden Trio', 'The Brightest witch of her Age', or simply Hermione – pseudo-sister to Luna. She would never have long talks in the library with Sirius or laugh at Ron for his awkwardness around Luna, or even the jokes and happiness Fred and George brought into her life, but most importantly, she would never experience the love she and Harry shared for each other; their sheer devotion to one another.

 _That_ , Hermione thought, _could never be replaced._

 **Authors Note:**

So, how is my revamping of this story? Better? Luckily, my exams are over so I can write whenever I want. Until I go off to Uni that is... Oh, well. I'll simply make time. I really hope this chapter is passible. I am winging this story, so some chapters may be uploaded faster with less time in between than others. Please, as always, leave a review. :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any sort of profit from this hobby. All rights are reserved for J. K. Rowling

 **Only Time Will Tell**

II: _Through a Haze_

By

 **RedLillies**

"Scars have the strange power to remind us that our past is real."  
― **Cormac McCarthy**

 **May 4th,** **1975**

Her screams echoed in the silent room whilst the sun tenderly greeted her with her early morning rays. The world around her rose unsuspectedly while hers was in turmoil. Her face, red-striped with dried tear marks, scrunched up as more tears fell from her closed eyes.

Her bed was as uncomfortable and sterile as the rest of the room. And, accompanied by the sound of singing birds, she curled up into a fetal position, trying with all her might to protect her body from something that was not there. Her distress was clearly visible on her face if one even bothered to look closely at all. Her mind worked all through the night and into the early morning.

The time of dawn was just as innocent as she ought to be but we all know, what blooms and thrives in the beginning, will slowly wilt until their day's end. Could that not be applied to a person's innocents as well?

A child is innocent. Some may say naïve – still learning and discovering the world around them, while an adolescent already starts to become familiar with certain hardships of the world, trying to accept the world they live in as their innocents slowly slips through their fingers like grains of sand.

As a person turns into an adult, be it in their mind or physically, they are either blindside by the bigotry in the world or can see the devastation as clear as day. But to either one, the unfairness of it all is clear as day. Their realization from adolescent to adult comes not in a mind-blowing way but creeps in, unsuspecting, until they are drowning in their feelings and surroundings.

As an elderly, you should have experienced the world. From the richest of your life to your poorest. Some people will never find the solace of life's ending and some are the lucky ones that do. But the bitter truth of life is, that it will all eventually come to an end. That's the normal cycle of life – of innocence even.

It is, however, not the case when you are thrust into a life-changing event from an early age. An event that you could not have seen coming from a mile away, yet, still becomes a part of you. It is and always will be unavoidable.

The most traumatizing event in a person's life, in the history of the world, is when a child loses his or her innocents in life, most importantly, during a war. No child deserves such cruelty.

People say that war is a game played by adults but it is always the children that are fighting them, who are stuck in the cross-fire.

And when death hangs like a prominent smell in the air, it will linger until your very last breath of life's ending. Death, that is like a scar, will forever mark your hardships, like strikes, deep in your heart.

Her body started shaking in the now completely risen Scottish sun. The air was still crisp from the night before. Her whimpers were becoming louder again. Her mutters grew and grew in volume until they could be properly heard from far a distance.

''We didn't take it... No – No, we didn't take it. We found it. WE FOUND IT,'' her shrill voice rose in volume as she begged, ''Please, please I can't take it anymore. PLEASE…''

Her scream echoed against the stone walls. Her hands fisted into her curly and slightly bushy hair, pulling it at its roots, hoping that would be the solution to keep those monstrous thoughts from her mind. Her eyes scrunched up with pain and her mouth opened in a silent scream.

Her treacherous mind keeping the horrifying events on a loop. On and on it went. The word that was carved into her, full of dark magic and hate, opened up again. The wound seeped with blood.

Another blood-curling scream was heard.

''Please, Please help me...'' sounded her pitiful voice.

She arched her back from the bed into the air as her muscles became taught with the stress she put on them. The bouts of after effects from the _Cruciatus Curse_ were stronger than ever. Her screams became so powerful and horrifying that they broke through the silencing wards of the Infirmary.

Madam Pomfrey finally ran into the room. Her unclothed feet padded on the stone floor and her nightgown billowed behind her, ''Miss Granger, Miss Granger!''

The nurse grabbed her wand from her pocket and tried to calm the witch down, forcing potions down the patient's throat, while her torn flesh was knitting itself back together.

•

There was nothing but a dim haze of pain clouding her senses when she woke up for the second time that day. It took a while to register where she was and what had happened.

A distant corner of her brain screamed at her that she was in danger but her body was so lethargic, so heavy, that she could not even summon the strength to open her eyes. Her eyelids felt like they were glued shut, too weak to flutter open and to take in her surroundings.

The last thing she remembered was the smell of burning flesh and screams of people nearby as she felt the magic of the ancient spell fly her way, accompanied by a dull ache and chanting of people surrounding her. She could still see the rabid eyes of Bellatrix Lestrange only happy to torture her to the brink of insanity. Her mask, long forgotten at her master's feet, revealing a yellow-toothed grin with a desire to murder and torture in those crazed eyes.

Hermione felt fear race up her spine, drawing her further out of sleep. She was going to die. She needed to get up. She needed to protect herself.

Her chest ached, as did her arm. That was the next thing she grasped as she shifted her body. Her eyes opened stiffly, slowly, to be greeted by a pale ceiling above her. Her throat burned as she gasped.

Finally recovering from the shock of waking up, she grappled for her wand but only felt the roughness of cotton. The material was crisp and wrapped tightly around her body. It did not make sense to her sleep-riddled mind. She swallowed thickly and tried to sit up, whimpering as she felt the searing pain in her body intensify.

She told herself to calm down, to keep breathing. Her body soon followed her mind's order and inhaled deeply, relaxing into the pillow beneath her. That was her third realization. She was in bed. Under a sheet.

Hermione forced her mind to cooperate and rationalize the sensations she was experiencing. She liked to catalogue things, liked to put things in little compartments. She tried to see the logic in the most basic of things. Her mind finally woke up and remembered slowly, like flowing water that comes into a stream, the memories of the days before.

 _What do I do?_

It was barely day, almost night. There was a mix between the artificial lights in the room and the mystical sunrays just barely grazing her sheet-covered toes. She was smothered in white cotton, the kind of material that rubs your skin the annoying way. The confused aroma of multiple potions hung in the air. The most distinguished scents were asphodel and wormwood. She was not wearing her normal clothes, she remarked, at least, not the ones she remembered, but a white sterile hospital gown. And there was silence.

 _Well, not complete silence_. She grimaced at that thought.

Very faintly, she could hear a slight sniffing as if someone trying not to cry. Although the sound could be anything, her hazy minded chose not to acknowledge it further.

Her minded was suddenly flooded with thoughts of her loved ones, all dead, mutilated at the hand of their murderers – those monsters.

Finally, she managed to crawl up the bed and drag herself to sit in an upright position, though she was still slightly slumped against the metal headboard.

Hermione closed her eyes. As she focused to control her breathing again, she became more and more aware of the other sound in the room. She tilted her head to the side and concentrated. The sound continued to go on. She sighed heavily and could ignore it no more.

She opened her eyes and peered over there but her eyes were still too blurry to see a single thing in front of her.

Hermione spun her legs from the bed and set them gingerly on the cold stone floor. She wiggled her toes a bit to get the feeling back in them and shivered, it was ice cold. She pushed the feeling from aside as she made up her mind. Whoever it was, seemed to go through great trouble to hide their sadness.

Slowly, as not to make a sound, Hermione shuffled towards the noise. Her legs were aching and weak but with every step, she seemed to regain some strength. She leaned on her bed with her hands, searching for extra support. One hand raised itself from the mattress, and gently, with her fingertips, touched her collarbones.

As she made contact with the bandage around her shoulders she flinched and pulled her hand away. It was agony. Whatever spells rushed her way during the battle, she must not have felt them due to the adrenaline pumping in her body.

Eventually, she arrived at the corner of her bed. The curtains were drawn around it, separating her and her discovery. She finger curled, gripped the coarse curtain tightly in her hand, and nervously opened it to reveal no one. The bed next to hers was empty.

Hermione approached the bed and only belatedly saw a person in the farthest corner of the room, sobbing. It was a man, no, boy – Hermione thought wryly – hunched over. His knees were drawn all the way to his chest with his face between the crooks of his arms and his long black locks obscuring his face.

 _Sirius_ echoed in her mind. An instinct buried deep inside her, due to the cause of his untimely death in 1996, bubbled up. His death, like a dark mark on her life, on her view of the war, of history, would forever give her pangs in her heart. His death was the starter of a series of events that should have never happened.

She approached the boy cautiously, not knowing what his reaction would be. She leaned with her back against the wall and slowly slid down to the same position. She looked befuddled at the boy. She could not think of a reason why he would be crying.

She gently lay a hand on his back between his shoulder blades and started rubbing his back in a circular motion. The boy's head shot up and looked in surprise at Hermione. His eyes wide and blood-shot.

''Hi,'' Hermione said a bit shy, ''are you okay, did something happen?''

The boy in question looked at her and gave her a confused look. ''Okay? Okay? Of course, I'm not okay. I'm crying or can't you see,'' he asked sarcastically.

''I'm sorry,'' she apologized without a reason, ''Can I help you with anything,'' Hermione continued, not acknowledging his tone whilst still rubbing his back in a soothing motion.

''Sirius,'' he said.

''Pardon?''

''My name, it's Sirius.''

''Nice to meet you, I'm Hermione.''

''Hi.'' Sirius gave her a small smile in acknowledgement and slid his gaze in front of him looking straight-ahead.

''Are _you_ okay,'' Sirius asked Hermione.

''Could be better,'' she replied tonelessly while still looking intently at his face. As they both lost themselves in their thought, Hermione slowly turned her head to the front, focussing on nothing in particular.

''Would you like to tell me why you were crying,'' Hermione tried to ask gently, ''in the Hospital Wing no less…'' She gave a tentative smile.

Sirius looked at her then, blinked once and abruptly stood up. He wiped his cheeks violently, trying to erase the red tear-strikes that were left behind on his aristocratic face – throwing Hermione's hand from between his shoulders.

''I should go, I'm sorry.''

Hermione was speechless at the behaviour of the young version of Sirius. It shocked her to the core when she remembered that this was not the same Sirius she spent her time within the library of Grimmauld Place talking about the world, Harry and other subjects.

 _They stumbled upon each other one evening in the library in Grimmauld Place. Hermione was sitting on the couch with a book in her hands when Sirius suddenly banged the door open._

 _''_ _Sorry,'' he said, not in the least convinced with what he was saying, ''I should go.''_

 _''_ _No!'' Hermione grimaced a bit, ''No, I mean – It's okay. You can stay.''_

 _Sirius nodded and walked towards where she was sitting. Plopping not ten centimetres from where she sat. Their thighs touching each other. Her gaze slid back to her book as Sirius kept looking into the fireplace._

 _Abruptly, Sirius cleared his throat. Hermione's head shot up and looked at him curiously with wide eyes. Her brows knitted and she contemplated asking what was wrong. Just when she had mustered up the courage to ask him what was troubling him – he beat her to it._

 _''_ _I'm worried about Harry,'' He stated simply, ''You are like a mother to him in some sort of weird twisted way. Did you know?'' after some silence he added with a deep sigh, ''I'm jealous of you. You can spend time with him whenever you want, while I'm stuck here for a good chunk of the year. I just don't get to see him as often as I'd like.''_

 _Hermione shut her mouth and immediately understood him. Her mind peeled away more layers then he meant with that statement. He turned to look at her and she saw the sincerity and vulnerability in his eyes._

They started talking and from that moment on a bond had formed. One where they could talk for hours upon hours about what was troubling them. Sirius was the one that spoke the most and he slowly turned Hermione in his rock that protected him from the waves crashing at his unstable shore; his only tether to sanity within that godforsaken house.

Sirius's burdens were stacked upon each other throughout the years. His imprisonment, feelings of abandonment, guilt, anger, betrayal, and of course, his feelings towards the Ministry were not helping him in the slightest.

The fact that he could not escape from his personal hell, from the house that represented so many terrible things, abuse, torture; physically and mentally, became a greater burden than the Order had anticipated.

The pile on his shoulders stacked itself higher and higher and became heavier as time went on. The claustrophobic feeling of being trapped only added to the endless pile of turmoil, of unresolved emotions and emotional outbursts. He needed an outlet. And who better than Hermione herself?

Hermione was the one who helped him through the isolation of the wizarding world. Hermione was the one he talked to about his incarceration. Hermione was the one he talked to about his feeling of guilt. Hermione was the one he talked to about Harry. Hermione, Hermione, Hermione.

She kept on putting more and more stress on herself, thriving for some sort of perfection or accomplishment for being a good daughter, friend, student or soldier for the upcoming war but most importantly being a sister, or dare she say, motherly figure to the one and only 'Chosen One' himself.

She thrived for knowledge. She thrived to prove her worth to the world. Tried to show that she was not a third class citizen due to her blood-status. She felt discriminated. Both amongst her peers and the outside world. She felt used and discarded by the ones around her. Was she ultimately a puppet in the show called 'the Greater Good'?

She was the one people depend on for knowledge. She was the one they turned to when she needed to solve something: to save the Philosopher Stone, finding out who the Heir of Slytherin was, the monster in the chamber, protecting Harry form a so-called 'mass-murderer', helping Harry through the tournament – finding new spells for him to try out; runes for protection, charms for distractions, offensive curses and violent spells to attack their opponent. She researched everything for them.

She understood why she needed to help Harry, yet, could not help but feel used. She was jealous of Ginny and Ron. They had each other, they had a family. One that supported one another. She could not fathom why her own parents could not support her as Harry did?

So, as a solution, Harry and she became their own small family.

She would do everything for the people she loved. That's what made her a double-edged sword. Her characteristic being both a liability and a good thing.

A liability in the sense of being easily manipulated to unconsciously doing someone's bidding – maybe at times even consciously. Yet, she was also unceasing for the fact that she was unstoppable if someone was threatening her loved ones. At times even ruthless.

Sirius depended on her, even before their library-talk. That was their thing. Their unconscious decision made towards the end of her third year when Sirius went on the run - when she rescued him. She was the one he clung to on the Hippogriff's back and thanking her repeatedly with her name falling from his lips like a prayer.

They loved each other. Not like lovers, mind, but in a kind of weird brother-sister way. More or less a best friend.

Oh no, you have to understand that no-one could replace Harry and Ron. Sirius, however, came third, then unquestionably the quirky and sometimes weird Luna.

She did not know how to respond to this strange feeling rushing through her veins and fueling her confusion. Hermione put her hands sluggishly behind her on the ancient wall and pushed herself up, slowly shuffling back to her bed and waiting for the next turn of events that would happen in the past.

•

 _Dear Miss Granger,_

 _Could you please come to my office at a time which will benefit you, as to not hinder your healing? I am becoming particularly fond of Popping Flower Candy._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Albus Dumbledore_

Hermione looked at the note with a melancholy look. A small smile graced her gaunt face. _He never does change, does he? Always obsessed with candy,_ Hermione thought to herself. She put the note back on her nightstand and clicked on the light to make the room a bit lighter. The little clock that was put next to her bed some hours ago, displayed obnoxiously that it was eleven PM.

She reached with her hand towards a chair that stood not far from her bed with a fresh set of clothes. She swung her legs over her bed and onto the floor and grabbed the first thing of the neatly folded pile, putting the clothes on with difficulty.

A simple set of undergarments, a plain white t-shirt that was slightly baggy on her body, a pair of jeans that bore a remarkable resemblance to the jeans her mother wore when she was younger, the typical mom jeans; and some black combat boots.

While walking the familiar path towards the Headmasters Office, she slowed down her pace and admired the castle from a historical point of view. _It won't change much_ , she decided after seeing the halls that she would hopefully walk in, in the future.

Her mind and eyes reflected the deep sorrow she felt for not being with the ones she truly wished to be with. The people she supported through thick and thin, and they, her.

Oh, how she missed the simpler times and not her life scarred by sacrifices and death. She remembered her mother at that moment, telling her that her skin wrinkled around her face and that a frown would always mar her young daughter face. She imagined that her mother would then preach to her that she needed to stop her bouts of stress and pulling her face in such ways and threatning that it would remain that way forever.

Having arrived at the memorable Griffin statue leading to the Headmasters Office, she stopped to take a deep breath and collected herself.

''Popping Flower Candy,'' whispered Hermione with a shuddering breath.

As the Griffin turned to reveal the winding staircase, Hermione stepped on the first step that her feet could locate and let herself be brought to the ornate wooden door.

''Come in,'' sounded from the other side of the door.

Hermione opened the door cautiously and stepped inside. Dumbledore sat at his desk with his hands in front of him, and waved his hand, inviting her to sit in one of the chairs in his office.

''Good evening, Headmaster.''

''You as well, Miss Granger,'' Dumbledore said with a small smile gracing his old face, hidden a bit by his long beard.

''How is your healing progress coming along?'' The Headmaster asked not unkindly.

''Very well,'' she replied curtly and giving a polite nod, ''Have you heard a word from the Delacours, sir,'' she continued.

''Straight to the point my dear,'' the Headmaster replied with his eyes twinkling, ''They gave me a Floo call not too long ago. Telling me that they don't mind waiting until you are recovered. They have gotten the adoption-ritual all set up and asked me if you wanted a quick read through the procedure?''

Hermione looked at the Headmaster with pursed lips. Disapproval on her face, clear for all to see.

''This is for your protection, Miss Granger! Do not take it lightly,'' The Headmaster pointed in a loud voice. His grandfatherly façade quickly shattered.

''For my protection,'' Hermione hissed, ''What about theirs? Who is to think about them? What would happen if they adopted me and I would be dragged back to where I came from, what then? Did you even think about that?''

''We don't know what sent you here in the first place, Miss Granger. We cannot speculate and guess what will happen when we don't have the reigns of Time in our hands. We cannot manipulate it. We cannot change it to fit our needs. It would simply slip through our fingers," the old man paused before continuing, "Imagine if you were never to return to the past. At this moment you'd have an alibi. No one would question your existence,'' Dumbledore finished with a whisper, awe in his voice.

''Even if,'' Dumbledore said unrelentingly, ''by some miracle you got sent back… You could explain it to them, tell them why you suddenly have a different name, but the same red blood. Think about it,'' he stated.

Hermione looked long and hard at her esteemed Headmaster, not betraying her emotions. It felt like ages before she spoke.

''I think,'' she said before breaking off. She collected her thoughts, ''I think it'd like to check over the ritual before I make a decision.''

Dumbledore hummed his agreement and went to stand up. He walked towards his wall of bookcases filled with all kinds of books; small, big, thick, thin, everything you could imagine, cramped in a little space.

 _If I am stuck, maybe this would be the best way..._

He stood before the second bookcase on the right and grabbed a thick, small, black tome. _The Magicks: Among the old families_ , it read. She made to grab the book but Dumbledore took his hand away at the last second.

''Tut, Miss Granger,'' he said mockingly with a sardonic smile as if speaking to a mere child, ''Do take it seriously. It is a special edition after all.''

Hermione felt her body going stiff. She felt foolish the way he spoke to her, not appreciating her as someone who was almost literally his only hope. She felt like he said the words in such a way as if he was crowning her Queen of the marionettes, a puppeteer; God even.

''Thank you, sir,'' she said finally, in a sickly sweet voice.

Hermione stood up from her chair and did not look behind her as she walked out of the Headmasters Office. She did not see the triumphant smirk that graced the old Headmaster's lips, casting dark shadows on his face, making him look like the evil man she painted him.

She walked in the shadows in the dead of the night, jumping from one of the torches' shadows to the other. Gliding seamlessly along the old stone walls. No one was to see her after all.

She sat down on her bed and looked nervous at the cover of the little black tome. _No author_ , she thought, _that doesn't seem suspicious_ , she finished sarcastically. She opened the book to the first page and began to read.

 _The Magicks: Among the old Families_

 _Being part of one of the old families is a privilege most mudbloods don't understand. It is the honour of the highest order. Especially, if you are chosen to become one of them._

 _You will never be alone. In body and in spirit – that you would have to understand. And by that dear reader, I mean that there will always be something judging you, watching you, lurking somewhere in your subconscious._

 _An entity that would be flowing through your veins, into your pores and breathe life into your very skin. It would be there with you at every step of the way. It will give you knowledge and strength when needed, and reprimand you when you go too far._

 _Every entity is different, such as each family is. Every entity chooses the boundaries of one's family. You have no control. Some entities are stronger than others. Such as one person is stronger than the other._

 _The only one that could ever bargain a deal with your family's entity, would have to be The Lord and Head of your Ancient and most Noble House._

 _To become one of the few who will be bestowed the honour of joining an Old family, you must take part in the adoption ritual. If you are a woman, then you shall need the ritual and ingredients as followed:_

 _Lily of the valley (humility, chastity, sweetness, purity, brings luck in love), Yellow Daffodils (represents new beginnings), cranberries (long and happy life), Gillyflower (happy life and lasting beauty), figs (fertility, understanding, knowledge and faith), two drops of blood from your Ancient and most Noble House, two drops of the one who is officiating and nine drops of blood of the adoptee, a piece of jewelry that will represent her new family and lastly a knife made out of moonstone._

 _On the day of the New Moon the ritual must take place where the adoptee is represented best; symbolizing the earth she was birthed from. Beforehand the woman must be clothed in a simple cotton dress whilst leaving the rest of her body bare. That way she will be better connected to the earth of the Gods._

 _You must all stand in a circle around the cup, each representing a cardinal direction and put the silver cup in the middle._

 _Firstly, the head of House must put a drop on blood on the north side of the silver cup and one in the cup – the same for the officiator, but his drop will be in the south. Both using the moonstone knife._

 _The first ingredient that must be poured or put in the cup are the Yellow Daffodils. Be they crushed or not – the consistency will not matter. Secondly the figs. Thirdly, the Gillyflower. Fourthly, the Lilies of the Valley._

 _When the four ingredients have been placed in the cup, the cranberry pulp must be smeared in a cross between the brows of the adoptee by the matriarch. Representing the welcoming of the new offspring._

 _Passing the knife, lastly, to the adoptee herself, she needs to make a cut in her hand and soak the piece of jewellery in her blood above the cup, so that the excess blood will fall into the cup – precisely nine drops. While the jewellery is soaking in her blood, the adoptee must recite the ancient words of the promises of the Gods (see page 117)._

 _After the incantation and the adding of the blood, the entire consistency of the cup must be drunk while the piece of jewellery is placed on the body. If it is a ring; on the finger, and so on._

 _If it were to be a boy, however…_

Hermione sighed and flipped a few pages searching for the incantation.

 _''_ _I, (name of choosing), promise faithfully, in the presence of the eternal magic, the entity, that I, enduring the whole course of my life shall be faithful to my family, to the utmost of my power; To be honest, true, righteous and uphold my family's standing. To honour the Fates and the Gods that have given me my power, to defend their integrity and make them proud. May I be the truest example for my future offsprings, so that they will repeat my good-doings and learn from my misconducts. With the honour of my spoken words, I faithfully affirm by my solemn oath. So I said, So mote it be.''_

She stared off distractingly into the distance and closed the book slowly. Unfortunately for her, she had mistakingly forgotten to read the most important part of the entire ritual on the next page.

•

The next morning Hermione found herself in the Headmasters Office again. She felt conflicted. It was a dark ritual infused with Blood Magic which many see as a highly unstable and illegal ritual; not even worth to consider. But shouldn't she have more leisure towards Blood Magic? After all, Lily Potter had used Blood Magic to save Harry.

 _Should I risk it_ , she pondered. She didn't have a choice in the matter. It would be the only thing that would stop arousal of her presence. Well, at least for the time being. _Oh, stop the fucking incessant whining, you really have to get a life_ , a voice said in her mind.

She looked up into the cold and grey calculating eyes of the Headmaster and took a deep breath.

''I accept.''

* * *

 _..Once the ritual is complete and the adoptee becomes part of the family, they will be rewritten into the lives of the Old Family and the world, as if they have always been there. Their looks will slowly morph into the mix of what a biological child of the matriarch and the patriarch would look like while creating a whole new life and memories for the newly formed family._

 _The parents would, and will, never know that the child did not come from their womb. The adoptee, however, shall retain all her, or his, memories of their previous life. While the officiator will forever remember their memories together, fusing them with the new ones. The world around them will shift and pull and create new relationships and different outcomes. In essence, the adoptee will have a whole new life waiting for them, but remember, it is a privilege you are now born into. One you can never relinquish…_


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any sort of profit from this hobby. All rights are reserved for J. K. Rowling

 **Only Time Will Tell**

III: _A new dawn, a new day_

By

 **RedLillies**

"Yesterday is gone. Tomorrow has not yet come. We have only today. Let us begin." **―** **Mother Teresa**

 **May 8** **th** **, 1975**

''Prongs! You forgot to pack again, didn't you,'' said Remus while softly shaking his head, ''We're going to be late – again.''

''Don't worry dear old Moony, I've got this,'' James said while stuffing his clothes into his trunk.

A bead of sweat slid along his hairline. James looked at his trunk in disdain and saw that it was overflowing again. He wiped his forehead and pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. He looked exasperated at his trunk and narrowed his eyes at it as if it was a personal offence that it wouldn't close.

He walked menacingly towards his bed, tried to stuff his clothes in again, and promptly sat on top with his wand behind his ear. James gave a grin and jumped off his bed. His trunk flew open again and James groaned.

The rest of the Marauders stood on watching as James tried to get his trunk to close a third time. Finally, Sirius burst into laughter.

Sirius' voice was teasing as he looked at him, ''James, you know we have a handy little thing called magic."

James looked up at his best friend with wide eyes and wined, ''Why didn't you tell me sooner?''

He regarded James with wide eyes, ''You are a wizard, are you not?''

''I can't even find my wand,'' said James with as much frustration as he could muster.

The Marauders looked at him with an astonished look on their face before they broke into grins. Sirius scratched behind his ear with a pointed look towards James.

James's cheeks had reddened. He grabbed his wand from behind his ear and silently pointed it towards his trunk, " _Colloportus."_

James looked on as his clothes slowly folded and neatly packed into his trunk, the bolts turned and closed silently, ''It's weird leaving earlier than normal, isn't it? It doesn't feel right. This war does many things and bringing happiness isn't one of them.''

"We have to go home..."

The walk towards the Hogsmeade station was silent. The children around them did not dare to make a peep while their eyes shifted from left to right. The rest of the way to London was just as silent as the walk towards the platform and it had made the boys more scared than they ever thought possible.

Each of them was thinking and pondering their thoughts that were trapped inside their minds.

James looked down from the moving scenery to his hands and noticed they were shaking. He lay them on his thighs, gripping them hard, trying to steady his hands. His eyes lifted again and tried to focus on the countryside rolling by. They passed at towns and cities. However, to him, it all felt like one big blur of greens and browns.

The silence in the compartment was only momentarily broken by the Trolley Lady before they became silent again.

It was cold and dark when the boys arrived at the platform. The red steam train's wheels screeched threateningly in the silent station. The muffled chatter of the Muggles outside the wall, oblivious as always to the Wizarding World's turmoil, made it unbearable.

Although there were a lot more adults collecting their children from the platform compared to previous years, the gloomy atmosphere could not be ignored. Parents were tense and stood with their backs erect, anticipating any kind of confrontation; Their wands, tucked away in their sleeve, to protect themselves if need be.

The steam of the train descended towards the ground and a white mist surrounded the Wizards' feet. The torches on the walls flickered ominously against the gentle faces of the children, leaving them with evil shadows crossing their faces.

The Death Eater children exited the train with the corners of their mouth turning up in smug smiles on their lips, looking for their proud parents that relished in the fear the mass projected. They walked with confidence across the platform towards their parents and relished in the fear and the wary eyes that followed them.

The Aurors looked around suspiciously in their gaudy red robes. Cautious and alert. Their presence made the realization of war-time truer.

Parents searched for their children with a desperate look in their eyes. Hoping, and praying, that nothing had happened to their children in the time that they were separated.

The looks of relief in the eyes of the adults, when they embraced their children for the first time in a long period of absence, was enormous. Both child and parent, held each other in a tight embrace as if one of them would disappear into thin air.

The Potter matriarch watched the children leaving the express with parted lips and breathing shallowly. Her eyes were wide and searched without abandon for her two sons. Her chest heaved with a strong sense of breathlessness.

The patriarch, although strong-looking, was no more affected than his wife. With bated breaths did they look from compartment to compartment, from child to child, with time slowly ticking by, ''They will be alright, Euphemia, just you see.''

''Oh, I do hope so, Fleamont. Now, help me find them.'' She gripped her husband's hand a little tighter.

The invisible clock of time, ticking louder and louder with each second that went by, felt as if it signalled the end and finish line of the lives around them. Presumably, when the ticking would stop, so would their lives. As if they would drop dead, all at once.

Mrs Potter sighed with relief when she spotted her sons' black hair in a string of black with red-rimmed cloaked children making their way on the platform. Their eyes, although putting up a strong front, where tinged with undulated fear and worry.

One in front of the other, moved the Matriarch's feet, absentmindedly towards her children. Her mind realised only belatedly that she started walking towards the boys. _Her_ boys.

The patriarch saw his wife moving and followed her without a second thought. He saw as she started pushing people aside, her eyes glued to that of her sons'.

James and Sirius stood on their tippy toes, swinging their heads from left to right, looking for their parents.

''My boys!'' They suddenly heard not ten meters from them on their left.

The woman rushed to embrace her children as did her boys with equal fervour. They met in the middle, colliding with a force only known to those deeply loved.

They embraced in the kind of hugs that leave you breathless, wanted, loved – even if you are not the one receiving them, even if you are just an onlooker. The tiny woman stood on the tips of her toes and kissed them both on their foreheads. She felt teary-eyed as she realised that she stood only to their shoulders. They had grown while they were away.

''Your mother was worried.''

''Oh.'' Euphemia playfully slapped her husband's arm with tears clouding her eyes.

James and Sirius looked up. There stood their hero, their father. His mop of black hair was streaked with grey, yet he still managed to look younger than he actually was. The boys smiled brightly, innocent hero-worshipping shining in their eyes.

The Potter family and a single Black grabbed their trunks and took their leave, not looking behind or stopping to say goodbye, _Apparating_ to their home; their safe haven.

•

 **May 9** **th** **, 1975**

Hermione was walking down the narrow paths of the library, muttering and searching. She disappeared further and further into the dark corners filled with shelves and books. Her fingers glided over books with genres that stretched from Transfiguration to Defence against the Dark Arts – from Herbology to Divination.

The books she needed most, however, were tucked in the deepest and darkest part of the library, with not one window in the vicinity; parts where not a single student could be found – even if you took into account that the children all left for their homes, awaiting the new school year.

Her eyes perused from shelf to shelf, from book to book. Looking for the one that could explain her entire situation. The one book that would be her saving grace.

Her hair was pulled up into a messy bun atop her head, tendrils falling slightly across her face. Her eyes came to a halt when she spotted the book of all books. The most famous and extensive book about time-travel known to date, even in her own day and era.

Hermione gave a little gasp and her mouth formed a small hopeful smile. She had searched hours upon hours and read books upon books before she remembered that she needed this specific book to help her.

She grabbed the book carefully and brought it to a nearby table. On the corner of the table stood her gas lamp, shining proudly and emitting a yellowish light on her drained face.

The thick blue book with golden lining had little golden planets of Saturn on the cover. The title written in golden cursive letters read _Chronos' dominance over Aether_ by _Artemesia Gilliard_. She opened the book a smidge and stopped.

She fingered the cover with her thumb and pulled at the corner of her mouth with her teeth. She felt afraid that this book would determine whether or not she was doomed to stay in the past or if she was going to change it with her mere presence. But she hadn't a choice. She needed to read this book.

She closed her eyes and let her hand hover a little above the table. Her left hand came up to her face and rubbed her eyes with her thumb and index finger. And then she made her decision.

The book cracked when opened, due to its old age, and she began to read.

 _Chronos is Time – a god who has never been underrated. For all-consuming Time, who for the human mind increases endlessly, cannot in any way be separated from the orderly experience of life, which is not conceivable without him._

 _Therein lies the power of this God, who rules, not only the appearance of things – making them look newer or older – but also the Soul, who would not be able of comprehending anything without his gifts. That's why it has been said:_

 _"Ever-ageing Time teaches all things." (Prometheus to Hermes. Aeschylus, Prometheus Bound 982)._

 _Time plants in the human mind the basic sequence of Past, Present and Future, without which there neither would be 'before' nor 'after', nor anything depending on these such as 'causes' and 'effects'. Without them, all things would be perceived at once, and the human mind would fall into confusion._

 _The greatness of Time is such that nothing can be done about him, except to take him for granted just in the way he pleases to appear. For if he shortened the length of the day, no one would notice anything, since there is no way of checking Time by means of comparison._

 _Similarly, if he reversed his course, the whole physical world would be altered, since causes and effects are dependent on Time's direction; and then Death would come before birth, and Old Age would precede youth and childhood._

 _The immensity of the power of Time is such that there have been those – as Orpheus (if the Argonautica where his) – who have asserted that Time was first to exist. For they could not imagine any beginnings without him, apparently reasoning that whatever happens must happen according to Time and that nothing could ever take place as an event, without the acquiescence of this god, 'Father of Days'._

 _But Time cannot be found in the physical world, except for the effects of his actions. Effects are perceived always in the segment of Time called 'Present', but the cause could be either in the Past or Future._

 _In recent years, scientists, who are unsurpassed in examining the physical nature of the universe, and in opening thereby the way to unprecedented technological achievements, claimed to have caught Time running slower or faster, depending just on physical conditions. This discovery has been considered a milestone. For until then, Time had been detected running irregularly only in the realm of the human mind._

 _And this experienced time, although recognized and distinguished from physical time, has often been regarded as an illusion, and therefore its meaning, in regard to human life and experience, is usually discarded._

 _Yet nothing could be said to stand closer to Time than the mind. This nearness is such that some have believed Time to exist just 'within', being the way in which the mind observes the world. But others believe that Time has his own existence 'without', independent of the mind and even independent of events. Yet 'within' and 'without' could be proved difficult to tear apart._

 _Time can only be perceived through events, some of which happen before, and some after. Both what took place before (the Past) and what is yet to happen (the Future) are usually regarded as non-existing. Past and Future cannot be retrieved at will, except by Memory, or in the claims of seers and prophets._

 _But since perception has been found, on the ground of physical observation, not to be instantaneous but delayed, some emphasize that it is not the Present that is perceived at any moment, but the Past, even though we perceive it 'now'._

 _As for the Present, common experience says it vanishes instantly and cannot be grasped, suggesting that Time does not exist._

 _Yet Memory confirms him at every moment, by recalling old events, and thereby re-establishing the certainty that new ones will soon come forth. This is how Memory, sister of Time, cooperates with her brother within the realm of the human mind._

 _Besides the three temporal dimensions of Time—Past, Present and Future—all of which belong to the experience of the human mind, a fourth may be added through reasoning, speculation, intuition, or other means._

 _This is Eternity, and in this form, Time ceases to express himself as the agent of the transient; for what is 'eternal' is forever. So, what only happens temporarily in our world, in Eternity happens always or just Is._

 _The Eternal is, therefore, a world in which Becoming has turned into Being, Change into Sameness, Part into All, Perishable Existence into Eternal Life, Somewhere into Everywhere, and so on._

 _And since Eternity is not divided into segments, as the Temporal is (in Past, Present, and Future), there is no need for Memory as such in that world. For she is the necessary giver of knowledge in the Temporal dimension, whereas in Eternity knowledge is absolute. Likewise, the Eternal could be said to be Time's absolute form, whereas the Temporal represents his relative form. The role attributed to Time, 'the all-seeing' (Sophocles, Oedipus Tyrannus 1212), in both the Eternal and the Temporal dimensions, justifies what is said of him:_

 _"Time sees all things forever." (Sophocles, Oedipus at Colonus 1454)._

 _These are some of the reasons why Time has been and still is revered. But of all three temporal categories, only the Past is regarded as loaded with Time. For neither in the Present nor in the Future can the footprints of Time be easily perceived. And when anything shows the marks of Time, it may, for that sole reason, be praised and respected._

 _For the human mind may find merit in age itself, and may cling to ideas such as 'tradition', on the ground of the experience and knowledge they may entail. And the longer the tradition the better; for if Time were pushed far enough into the Past, then we would find only the gods; for these came first and humans after. Yet, tradition may sometimes imply a corruption of Memory; and no one comes close to the gods on the ground of tradition._

 _In the eyes of mortals, Time is primarily the sequence of Past, Present and Future. Time is for them the same as Life; when Time leaves, so does life, and Death arrives in whatever form._

 _Time and life cannot be put apart. And if Time is feared, or trusted, it is mainly not so much because of Time himself but for the events he may bring, many of which are inevitable._

 _The Past is the segment of Time that cannot undergo change, except by the variations of Memory, on which it entirely depends._

Hermione had a pensive look on her face and flipped back to the index and searched for more information about Aether and her submissiveness. She dragged her finger along the old, yellowing page until she found the right chapter, and skipped half the book. She prepared herself mentally and let out a shaking breath.

 _People like to believe that when humans meet Chronos – even by extension through Aether (the upper sky) – they are granted passage into the unknown realm of 'Father Time'. The experience is believed to be abnormal, even in the Wizarding World._

 _There are many stories and myths surrounding the belief that Chronos only touches the ones he believes to be worthy of his presence. The person is to be watched closely by Aether for quite sometime before Chronos makes his choice._

 _By speaking to many centaurs, who live by the rules of Aether, they told me, that the power of Time will grab you with both his hands and literally rip you from your world as if your life is but a fickle thing. When asked why they answered with,_

 _''_ _There cannot be good without evil, and evil without good. One or the other will always be in conflict with each other, and one will always triumph. However, Chronos will ultimately choose which one shall prevail and which one shall dominate. If Chronos were to believe that the Universe, his creation, is not balanced anymore or to his preferences, he tries to right the balance of Time again – of reality.''_

 _The centaurs told me many stories of how Chronos changes the Will and Fates of persons, as Centaurs are one of the only creatures – and by extension Wizarding citizens – who can choose to remember the original life of the person worthy._

 _The person that is thrust into another Time will have the power to forever alter the course of history and the Fate of people living in it. In essence, the person who was brought from another time will forever be part of history with no way out._

 _''_ _If a person is touched by one of the most powerful entity's in this world, they should count themselves blessed by the Power of our Father.'' – Head chief of the Centaur Clan in Bratislava_

Tears slid down her cheeks in desperation. It was as if it was their own way of escaping the reality of the person's body by fleeing down her cheeks. Her eyes rimmed with red, stared at the pages of the book as if by doing that, the words would become untrue.

This was the only book that could help her. She had searched for hours at a time through the shelves of the library with the meagre selection of books about Time and Time-Travel that the library supplied her with.

Hermione sniffled and furiously wiped the tear stains off her face. She seemed to be crying much these days.

The artificial light of the torches created a beautiful halo of light around her head. With the fire moving and dancing in the night, shining like a beacon in the dark and dusty library as if the fire itself wanted to scream, ''It's you! You are the chosen one; you are worthy enough!''

But of course, Hermione did not hear such words and continued berating herself in her head, not knowing that every tear that slid down her face would bring her closer to the feeling of acceptance – of accepting that she was stuck in this time, in this life forever.

The New Moon was coming closer. She knew that. It was only two days from then, and yet, she still had to meet her adoptive family. She wondered if it were the same Delacour's that would eventually father Fleur.

She lifted her head from the crook of her arms, stood up, put the book back in place and exited the library with a detached look on her face. _I really am forever stuck in this world_ , she thought.

Forever doomed to know the hardships of war, possible outcomes if she did not make the right decisions. One mistake and it was all over. Everyone would be doomed. But a little spark of hope bloomed deep in her chest, trapped in a little cage far into the caverns of her heart.

Breathing in deeply she gathered herself and walked up the stairs towards the Infirmary, sticking to the shadows of this world. She watched her step carefully, afraid to fall down the steep stairs. She opened the doors of the Infirmary with a loud screeching sound and the old doors fell close with a thud.

Dumbledore coughed when she stood not even a meter from her bed. Her brown eyes met his grey ones, masked with layers of pain, grief, guilt, all rolled into one; trying to desperately hide his emotions behind his grandfatherly facade. It was as if he knew what complications Hermione would meet along her journey.

''Good evening, Miss Granger.''

''Hello.'' She replied with a chilling voice, leaving no room for questioning her feelings towards the Headmaster.

''I wanted to speak to you about the ritual. I hoped you have picked out a name for yourself and are prepared for your vows? I have already gathered your supplies as well as the cloth that you'd need to wear, my dear girl,'' Dumbledore said, hoping to alleviate the tense atmosphere hanging in the air.

Hermione merely blinked and tersely nodded her head. Indicating with her body language that she wanted to be left alone. Her head hung and her body slouched forward. Her wand hanging limply in her arm, ''You know of my history, but still, call me a child.'' She hissed.

''I will treat you as such until you learn to behave.'' He countered.

The determination that she previously felt, to change history, was slowly being sucked out of her by her own realization. Her bliss of being given a second chance, diminishing by the second. Her emotions seemed to be spiralling out of control. Sometimes even changing on a whim.

Her hands turned into fists, her nails biting into her hands, creating little moons of blood on her hands. The pain grounded her for the time being.

She could not help but remind herself what would be expecting her on her paved road of good intentions. Should she succeed, she might change the world for the good; should she fail, well, she did not even want to think about that. With the face of her best friend floating in her mind and those thoughts, she made her resolve slowly come back.

''Will I be meeting the Delacours at all before the ritual,'' she asked quietly, not changing her tone from before.

The Headmaster's eyes shot up to her questioning gaze, ''There was always a possibility, but it may be easier to meet each other at the time of the ritual.''

She suddenly felt a dubious feeling rising in her gut, ''But that is not fair to any of us! They should meet me before they make such a decision,'' Hermione's eyes narrowed into a distrustful glare, ''What are you keeping a secret?''

Ignoring Hermione's question he replied, ''That was an order, Miss Granger, not a matter up for negotiating.''

Hermione tore her eyes away from the Headmaster and remind silent. She readied her bed, as the Headmaster stood up.

''I hope you do not take this decision as a betrayal to our alliance. This will be the only time that I will consciously meddle in your affairs and demand that I claim something of our agreement.''

Hermione looked back at him, as silent as a grave. His words sounded so convincing, but believing them, was a completely different matter.

Crows crowed in the distance of the setting sun and the wind rustled behind the stained glass of the Infirmary.

''Yes,'' she whispered silently, acknowledging the stakes of the game, participating in it, while knowing the psychological games the Headmaster will put her through. Exactly the same as before.

 _He thinks of changing the world, but not of changing himself_ , she thought as she contemplated the words in her head, her pillow hung limply in her hands.

''Your name, Miss Granger, what shall it be?''

Hermione closed her eyes again, preparing herself for the inevitable. ''Hermione, so I remember who I am; Anastasiya, for my maternal grandmother; Clémence, for my grandmother on my father's side; and Luna, the name that gives me hope and strength. Hermione Anastasiya Clémence Luna Delacour,'' she whispered, sealing her fate forever.

•

As dawn turned into the dead of night, Hermione's eyes remained fixed on the ceiling of the sterile room. Her hair splayed on the pillow, making a halo of curls. Her hands crossed on her stomach as if she would be laid to rest not long after. The rain tapped gently and quickly against the tall windows.

Her mind refused to comply with her body and fall asleep, so staring at the ceiling she did. Her breathing was regular but with every breath that she drew in, the neckline of the frilly hospital gown tickled her neck. Her uneaten food was forgotten on her bedside table.

Unconsciously, she started chewing on the corner of her mouth. Her fingers glided gently over the woollen blanket that was given to her. Her nightgown was thin as well as frilly, which resulted in her shivering in the cold Scottish night. The warmth that the blanket should have given her, seeped away from her toes and fingers, leaving them with a stiffening cold feeling.

She blinked once, then twice. Every time she did that, a new strategy would appear in her head. A new list with pro's and con's, making her even more stressed and anxious for the upcoming time. Suddenly, an owl hooted from the windowsill outside, right above her bed.

Hermione jumped up in fright and turned her head towards the window. Even though knowing and seeing that nothing dangerous was about to happen, she still snatched her wand from the nightstand.

As she gripped the wand, she manoeuvred her hand under the thick blanket, feeling safer, thinking that no one could see her wand that way, that she had the element of surprise in her hands if the situation called for it.

As she listened, she noticed that the castle was eerie silent but knew, somehow, that nothing would harm her. Her breathing started to calm and her nausea slowly ebbed away – the bile in her throat disappearing.

The waning crescent of the moon was getting closer towards the sun, as seen from earth. The burden of those thoughts, about the upcoming ritual, made the pressure on her shoulders grow. The thought made her feel as if something was stifling in her throat, almost choking on her own spit.

Her right hand was clenching and unclenching, opening the half-moon crescents in the palms of her hands again. The pain in her throat felt unbearable as she tried not to cry. Her eyes burned with such intensity. She squeezed her fist a little tighter in hopes of relieving the pain she felt in other parts of her body, all the while whimpering unconsciously.

Suddenly, she heard a woman's voice singing slowly into her ear, trying to lull her to sleep, signing a lullaby Hermione did not recognize.

Hermione turned her head abruptly to the left, her breath escaping in shallow puffs from her mouth, her eyes wide with shock, but nothing was to be seen; she was all alone in the big room filled with empty, white, cold beds.

She swallowed heavily and slid her gaze back up to the ceiling. As the voice continued singing, Hermione's eyes slowly started closing involuntarily, as if she could not resist the pull of the heavenly voice.

It was but a mere second before she was surrounded by darkness but when she blinked in her sleep, she was abruptly, and unexpectedly standing in a field.

 _She stood in a field full of lavender, that grew so high that it came right up to her hips. She had a white dress on that came to mid-thigh, her head was adorned with a crown made out of gypsophila's – baby's breath, while her curls were loose and flying wildly in the warm and gentle breeze._

 _All of a sudden she heard a girlish shriek of happiness, not realising that the sound came out of her own mouth._

 _She started running through the lavender field with someone chasing her. But this was a different sort of chasing – one of happiness, not threat. At her realisation, she started to laugh. The sound of joy bellowing behind her, leaving a trail of happiness in her wake. The person chasing her was not giving up and emitted his own heartfelt laughs._

 _At once, she turned around, her hair flying around her. Her white dress lifted with her movements and her naked feet padded on the Mediterranean ground. The sun was beaming, adding to the happiness of the dream._

 _Hermione made a tone of surprise when the man was closer than she had expected. He grabbed her around the waist and twirled her in a circle. He tightened his arms around her waist and burrowed his face into her neck, breathing in her scent. She could feel the smile forming on his lips against her neck._

 _''_ _Stop worrying, my love, all will be well.'' He whispered the words with such love, that her breath hitched._

 _The affection for the man holding her tight blossomed in tenfold. They fell to the ground and started laughing when their shock wore off._

 _She heard a muffled sound in the distance, calling towards her. She lifted her head to take a better look, but the sounds and her vision started blurring. It seemed as if a little boy was running towards her but she did not know for sure._

 _When she did not respond, the man looked at her and started shaking her shoulder but she could not see or hear a thing. Their faces were blurred, their voices deformed. Her senses started fading._

 _She still felt the ground and the lavender fields around her, the soft wind blowing in her face, the sun caressing her with its warmth, and the arms of the man around her shoulders but her eyes were still being stubbornly uncooperative._

 _And as her hearing focused on her short breaths, the world – and so her dream – started fading away from her._

 _Her hands reached out to the happy picture that was formed in front of her as if by grasping it with both her hands, the vision of such blissful, pure, happiness would not fade; Leaving the man and little boy, screaming her name in panic, behind in the heavenly darkness._

And as the last ray of sunshine from her imaginary world disappeared she woke up with a sharp breath, her upper body propelling forward, demanding that she sit, with her hands behind her back on the mattress, and a heavenly voice speaking in her ear.

 _''My child. My brave sweet child. Listen closely and don't forget. The present changes the past, looking back, you do not find what you left behind, my child. Take good care of yourself. I will be here, with you always. In your head, in your heart, in your body and in your soul. Do not fear me but relish in me. Be brave and strong, my little rose, but most of all, be kind and have faith in yourself. Do not fear – believe.''_


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any sort of profit from this hobby. All rights are reserved for J. K. Rowling

 **Only Time Will Tell**

IV: _Remembering Mother Nature's change_

 _'PART II: THE REBIRTH'_

By

 **RedLillies**

"How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world."  
― **Anne Frank**

 **May 11** **th** **, 1975**

Hermione stood with her head under the stream of the hot shower. The water streaked down her hair in a smooth mess of straight brown locks, sticking to her body. She grabbed the shampoo bottle and squeezed an average amount into her hand, lathering her hair with the concoction. The scent of blossoms filled the damp air of the bathroom.

Her eyes closed as she massaged her head. The shampoo narrowly avoided her eyes when she rinsed her hair out. She lathered her hair in conditioner and washed the sweat from her nightmares off her body, leaving her feeling clean and refreshed.

As she stepped out of the shower, she slipped on a towel around her body that stopped little above her knees. Her hair hung loosely down her back, letting the excess water from her hair, drip down her back.

Hermione walked towards the mirror and wiped away the fog, leaving a clear view of her face. She cocked her head to the side and inspected her face carefully. Her eyes traced over her every feature – critiquing in some places – and breathed slowly through her nose.

Her eyes dragged up from her chin to her nose, to her eyes. She searched and searched. Not knowing what she was actually looking for. What did she need to find to look away from her own gaze?

She gave her reflection a small smile and looked intently at how her eyes crinkled and her face formed laugh-lines in her cheeks and around her mouth. She met her eyes again and saw the sadness displayed in them. She felt terrible and the smile that she had tentatively formed fell abruptly from her face.

Hermione wiped a droplet of water from her forehead and ripped her gaze from her reflection. As she turned around, she grabbed her wand from a chair standing in the corner of the bathroom and dried her hair with a wave of her wand. Her magic worked slowly along each tendril of her hair and dried it in loose ringlets down her back, free of the grime and the sins she had left behind.

With despondence and grace did Hermione grab the cloth that Dumbledore had ordered for the ritual. She looked questionably at it before wrapping herself in material, forming a dress in the style of the old Greeks.

Her naked feet padded on the stone floor of the infirmary as she walked through the Courtyard towards the Black Lake. Dumbledore stood waiting for her in the same white cloth that she wore. She reasoned that it would be a qualification for everyone to wear the cloth, and not only her.

The tranquillity of the grounds was broken at the sound of the Headmaster's croaky voice, ''It is almost noon, Miss Granger. Do you know what that means?''

Hermione nodded and looked towards his outstretched hand that beckoned her forward. Her eyes shifted towards the lake in front of her and her gaze became unfocused.

She knew what noon meant. On this day, the moon would be too close to the sun to be visible from earth. It would rise and set with the sun, like two bodies that could not afford to be separated any longer than they already were. It would be clear and pure. Pure enough, to not spot a single thing in the otherwise star-spotted sky.

The powers of the moon would be the highest at midday. They would need to hurry.

Hermione's hand cautiously reached towards the old and wrinkly hand of the Headmaster and as soon as her fingertips touched his palm, they were whisked away.

They stood in a clearing surrounded by lime and birch trees, their full green leaves creating a canopy above their heads – protecting them from things unseen. The sun flittered shyly through the leaves and twigs of the old and sturdy trees, creating beams of light that projected on the forest's floor. She questioned the location only shortly as she soon realized that 'the ground of which I am birthed from' meant the trees that represented her birth month, September. So, there was no question of whether or not she was in the right location. After all, lime and birch trees are September trees.

The birds chirped happily in the warm English sun while a little creak streamed not far from where she was standing. Her toes wiggled in the dirt, relishing in the feeling of the ground and nature, as her mind brought her back deep into her memories.

 _''_ _Mione! Come look!'' Harry shouted._

 _Hermione turned around towards the entrance of the tent and opened the flaps to come face to face with an excited Harry. In his left hand were a couple of tubers and roots and_ _in his right, t_ _wo bunnies. His eyes radiated in the joy of finally finding something to eat for the both of them._

 _Hermione's face blossomed into a happiness on its own, ''Thank you, Harry. We'll finally have something to go on for a while.''_

 _''_ _Would you like me to cook,'' Harry asked hopeful, his smile faltering a little._

 _Hermione looked encouragingly at him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. His face becoming even more alight with happiness. His innocence, of finding something so crucial for both of them and finally being able to help with something, shined like a beacon in the darkness surrounding her._

 _Hermione looked on with a fond smile as Harry started chatting excitedly about their meal while walking towards the door that lead to the kitchen; Throwing him an affectionate smile behind his back._

''Miss Granger.''

Hermione shook herself from her memories, focused on the task at hand and pulled a lock of hair behind her ear. Her eyes refocused and saw a couple standing in front of her.

The woman was beautiful. Her wispy and long blond hair fell in shimmering locks behind her. Her eyes were the deepest and most soulful blue Hermione had ever seen on a person. Her eyelashes, dark and curling upwards, almost teased the skin just under her eyebrows. Her lips were well proportioned on her slim and slender face, radiating happiness and youthfulness at finally meeting her child.

The man on her left was just as beautiful as his wife. His brown wavy hair slightly obscured his eyes. His nose and jaw looked strong and slender as if cut from marble. His was face no less happy than his wife's at finally meeting his daughter.

The couple walked hand in hand towards Hermione, hesitating slightly when Hermione herself did not move an inch. She stood petrified as the couple continued their way towards her. Their footsteps were loud under the crunching of the sticks and leaves on the ground.

The couple managed a shy greeting and looked in each other's eyes, communicating without words and agreed on something. The woman opened her arms cautiously and moved to give Hermione a hug.

Hermione's eyes shifted immediately towards Dumbledore in panic and back to the woman in front of her. She tensed as the woman's arms embraced her tightly.

As the woman stepped back, the sun created a crown of light around her head, making her look like a mystical fairy in a long-forgotten story.

''Good day, Madam,'' said Hermione in a chocked voice, not believing this moment was actually coming true.

''Call me Apolline, please,'' the woman, Apolline, turned her head towards her husband and beckoned him closer with her hand and gave him a loving look, ''This is my husband, Jack. We are ever so pleased to call you our family. I hope you will eventually come to see us as your parents.''

''Thank you so much for everything. In advance at least,'' Hermione gave them a shy look and glanced back at her feet, ''Thank you for taking care of me and calling me your family. I hope to make you proud and not regret anything.''

The parents nodded tearfully. Grateful and touched by Hermione's words. Dumbledore coughed and broke the serene moment of the family's meeting.

''We shall need to hurry before the time is gone.''

''I agree,'' said Jack with an excited sigh.

The three of them looked on as the Headmaster grabbed the ingredients and placed the shiny silver cup in the middle, the sun glinting mysteriously against the cool metal of the cup. He placed the moonstone knife placed beside it. Lastly, Dumbledore handed out the different ingredients to Apolline and Jack. Jack the flowers and Apolline the golden bowl with the cranberry pulp.

The air felt heavily laden with Magic, coating their skin, and disturbing the clearing's peacefulness with its waves. Dumbledore made a step towards the cup and stood on its South point, while Jack moved to stand at the North point; Apolline to the West and Hermione to the East point.

Apolline started humming a song, marking the beginning of the ritual and lading the air with more Magic. Jack bent down and grabbed the moonstone knife and raised his hand high in the air. He slashed his hand down his palm and a single drop fell down before his feet. He hastened to put his hand above the cup, where a single, innocent, red drop, fell in its depts. The wound on Jack's hand healed itself and a golden light connected him to the cup.

Dumbledore reached towards the knife and moved to do the same thing. He slashed the knife down his palm, high in the air, dropping a single red drop in front of him and one in the cup. The magic reacted the same and created a line of gold surrounding him and the cup.

At Dumbledore's nod, Jack threw the Yellow Daffodils into the cup, not moving an inch from his place. He looked on as a big green flame burst from the silver.

As Dumbledore threw in the figs a burst of yellow came forth. The same thing repeated itself Jack threw in the Gillyflower and Dumbledore the Lily of the valley, alternating one another.

Dumbledore turned his hand towards Apolline, giving her a simple wave with his fingers and kept silent. He did not want to interrupt Apolline's humming. She stepped from the circle with the bowl securely in her hands and moved to stand in front of Hermione.

She put two fingers into the red paste and raised her hand towards Hermione's forehead. Their eyes met as Apolline's hand hovered in front of her.

Apolline started humming just a little louder and smeared the pulp slowly in a cross between her brows. Hermione closed her eyes as the Magic washed over her. She lowered her fingers towards Hermione's lips and touched them briefly while they were still covered in cranberry red, leaving a red print behind. A smaller, less bright light surrounded Hermione's head and heart.

''Welcome, my child,'' whispered Apolline, moving back to the circle and picking up her humming.

Apolline put the bowl in front of her feet and repeated the same process Dumbledore and Jack did. A golden light surrounded her and the cup as well.

Hermione's fingers shook and hovered momentarily as Apolline passed tried to pass the knife to Hermione. The Magic in the air felt it and sent a reassuring pulse of energy towards her. She raised the knife with her hand above the cup, and cut into her palm. As she opened her hand, a ring appeared in her blood-soaked palm. A dainty golden ring with an averaged sized opal stone in the middle.

Her eyes zeroed in on her blood that fell in droplets to the ground, as if in slow-motion.

 _One…_

 _Two…_

 _Three…_

 _Four…_

Her mind finally caught up and she started to speak, ''I, Hermione Anastasiya Clémence Luna Delacour, promise faithfully, in the presence of the eternal magic, the entity, that I, enduring the whole course of my life shall be faithful to my family, to the utmost of my power;''

 _Five…_

''To be honest, true, righteous and uphold my family's standing. To honour the Fates and the Gods that have given me my power, to defend their integrity and make them proud,''

 _Six…_

''May I be the truest example for my future offsprings, so that they will repeat my good-doings and learn from my misconducts,''

 _Seven…_

 _Eight…_

''With the honour of my spoken words, I faithfully affirm by my solemn oath. So I said, So mote it be.''

 _Nine…_

All of a sudden, Hermione stared glowing. She grabbed the blood-covered ring and slid it on her left hand's middle-finger; the finger that had the closest connection to her heart and soul. The last golden light shot towards her as if in a rush and almost stumbled when the power of the Magic connecting her with the goblet.

Her right hand reached towards the cup as the contents within started swirling and forming a shimmering black liquid. The sun, that had first shone shyly, now beamed and reflected in the sparks, creating the illusion of stars and constellations within the concoction.

Hermione swallowed hard, raised the goblet towards her parted lips and drank the liquid in big gulps. A small drop tried to escape down the corner of her mouth but her tong licked it up. Hermione's eyes became unfocused. The one clear shapes and colours became blurry and unfocused. In a panic, she heard as the three people around her dropped to the floor.

The wind picked up and started blowing harder and harder while the leaves and branches swirled and danced in its force. Her feet stood rooted to the ground while she swayed with the wind, left to right as if she was a tree herself. Her hair billowed all around her, slapping her in the face. Her confusion and panic rose.

 _What is going on? Did we do something wrong,_ she thought desperately.

She stared upwards for a few seconds before slumping and landing harshly on the ground. Her eyes blinked a couple of times before she felt it. Her innards started to change first, then her fingers became more slender and her eyes started to burn. And then, all of a sudden, different memories started pouring in. Her confused mind could not understand what was happening, and then, a blackness covered her eyes like a veil, and she could see no more.

Her mind brought her to her first new memory. She could be no older than a year. Her mother, Apolline, sat crouched in front of her. Her father's hands steadying her, holding her around her waist, as her legs were a little wobbly.

 _''_ _Allez, mon amour. Marcher à Maman.''_ _Apolline said with a happy laugh._

 _Hermione gave a childish giggle, clearly pleased with her mother's reaction, and slowly step by step moved towards her Maman. Her father holding her waist now only loosely – eventually let her go._

 _''_ _Bravo, mon amour, Bravo!'', Hermione walked straight into her mother's arms. Apolline picked her up and twirled them around as she hugged Hermione close to her body. Hermione giggled heartedly, ''Ma petite fille courageuse.'' Apolline whispered in Hermione's ear and gave a kiss upon her head._

 _Jack came up behind them and joined them in their embrace, ''Mes filles, je t'aime.''_

 _Apolline lay her head in the crook of Jack's neck and gave a content sigh._

The memory faded away like paint droplets in water. The colours moved from black to a whole new mix as they made way for another memory. The colours saturated, and a dream-like haze moved over her vision.

 _A little girl, now around six years old, ran hand in hand with a boy beside her. Her light brown curls flying behind her. She wore a light blue silk dress that moved playfully around her body. A crown of daisies adorned her head._

 _The boy gave a playful shout and pulled her in the direction of the willow tree. When they arrived at the base of the tree, they turned towards each other. Their eyes connected. Her blue and his hazel. She assessed his smiling face._

 _His mop of black hair became disarrayed because of the warm Mediterranean wind. She moved her hand towards his hair to make it lay flat on his head. Their left hands still entwined. He moved his head away and slapped her hand gently from his face._

 _''_ _Jamie, Let me do it! You look as if you have rolled dans de bushes!'' Hermione giggled._

 _''_ _Rosie, let it be, you know it will never sit right. I have given up and so has mum.'' Said the seven-year-old._

 _''_ _Why the nickname, Jamie?''_

 _''_ _Oh, so I can have one but you don't?'' He smirked, ''You are my little Hermione rose, my Rosie.''_

 _''_ _Oh, d'accord. It is not so bad.''_

 _James smiled victoriously, the sort-of argument already forgotten, ''I bet you can't climb this tree as fast as I can''_

 _''_ _Oh, it's on, Jamie!''_

 _Their entwined hands let loose and they began the challenge of climbing the humongous tree._

 _''_ _Be careful!'' Cried Apolline from a distance as she saw the children sitting on the third branch high above the ground; Their feet swinging up and down._

 _''_ _Don't they look like quite the pair, Apolline,'' said Euphemia Potter, James' mother, coming from right up behind her. Her eyes leaving the scene in front of her only for a second, before looking back at the children again._

 _James and Hermione were talking amiably, while their hands were clasped tightly in one another. Their eyes not leaving each other even for a single second._

Hermione's mind left the happy memory and moved onto the third.

 _She sat at the breakfast table. Humming happily and eating her light breakfast with content. The happy chatter of her parents in the background as they discussed this morning's paper was heard. It was the 11_ _th_ _of May. Her birthday to be exact. She turned ten today._

 _Hermione gently sipped her orange juice when an owl tapped on the window. Hermione almost choked and hastily sat her glass down on the table. She pushed her chair form the table and jumped excitably towards the window as her parents had gone quiet._

 _She opened the latch of the window with a big smile. The owl landed on the back of the chair, ruffling its feathers._ _Hermione squealed, ''Maman, Papa, ma lettre! Une lettre de Beauxbatons. Papa, peux-tu le croire ?''_

 _''_ _Bien sûr, ma brillante Hermione._ _I did not expect anything else. You have been talking about Beauxbatons for ages!''_

 _''_ _I have, haven't I?''_

 _''_ _Well, ouvre-le,'' Said Apolline._

 _Hermione's breath hitched as she untied the letter from the owl's leg and looked at the blue crest of Beauxbatons. The parchment slightly old and new at the same time._

 _Dear Future Student,_ _ **Madame Hermione A.C.L. Delacour**_ _,_

 _I am here to inform you of your acceptance to the_ _ **Beauxbatons Academy of Magic**_ _; 'Where Magic meets magnificence'. At Beauxbatons Academy, people of an unimaginable nature attend to learn about their gifts. As well as improving our magic, we learn etiquette, poise and more. Please find the enclosed list of supplies and equipment needed._ _Term begins on the 31_ _st_ _of August._

 ** _Puissiez-vous profiter de votre temps à Académie de Magie Beauxbatons,_**

 ** _Madame Rochelle._**

 _''_ _Oui! Oh, Maman, je suis tellement excitée._ _Pouvez-vous croire? It feels like a dream come true…'' Gushed a young Hermione._

The scene swirled again before opening her imagination for another memory.

This time they were already sitting in their favourite willow tree in Hermione's back garden and the sounds of the fountains were heard softly in the background. Every so often, their little legs would gently touch each other as they sat on the thickest branch. The now eleven-year-old sat watching Hermione in admiration as she made a flower crown of daisies.

 _Hermione looked up at James and blushed a pretty pink, ''Jamie, stop staring, you are making me blush. Arrête!''_

 _James gave a little laugh but did not stop looking at her._

 _''_ _Jamie,'' said Hermione, suddenly serious, ''You are going to Hogwarts in a few weeks._ _Will you write to me? Je vais vous manquer donc._ _You are my best friend!''_

 _James smiled widely and gave Hermione a wink, ''Of course, Rosie, I wouldn't want to forget my best friend and love of my life.''_

 _Hermione blushed even more and looked away from his hazel eyes to the flowers in her lap. She looked up again at James as he began to speak._

 _''_ _And you Rosie, you're eleven. You are leaving for Beauxbatons as well. You are already in your second year. I should be the one asking you if you will still remember dear old me, you know, as a big second year.''_

 _''_ _Oh James, you know I won't. Je t'aime.''_

 _''_ _I love you to Rosie,'' said James as he gave her a kiss on her head, inhaling the perfume in her hair fondly, ''I am going to miss you so…''_

 _''_ _Moi aussi, Jamie, moi aussi.''_

Hermione remembered many letters being written to Hogwarts from Beauxbatons and the other way around. Depicting their daily life and friends. But the most treasured letters and memories that James received were the ones of Hermione's sorting and departure to Beauxbatons.

The memory shifted again and the three of them were standing in a clearing somewhere in the south of France. They were dozens of children around her, chatting happily in Dutch, French, English, Flemish, Luxembourgish and many more different tongues.

 _''_ _Be careful, Hermione. Did you pack everything?_ _Make friends, be happy and please, écrire des lettres de beaucoup, beaucoup de your adventures._ _Je t'aime.''_

 _''_ _Oui, Maman. I will.'' Hermione laughed, slightly embarrassed, ''Papa, I won't forget you. Don't cry, please, I am a big girl.''_

 _She gave them both a tight hug and dragged her trunk to the carriages standing not far from them. A dozen Abraxan horses stood in front of each carriage. Waiting to transport them to the beautiful castle of Beauxbatons, somewhere in the Pyrenees._

The faces and surroundings blurred again. She now stood in front of the large, golden, ornamented doors, when opened led to the Great Hall. A woman in a luxurious white silken dress stood in front of the big group of children. When she clapped her hands twice did the children quiet down immediately.

 _''_ _Bonsoir, les enfants,'' the woman looked each and every one of them in the eye, ''my name is Madam Rochelle.''_

 _The children were looking on attentively and did not make a peep, scared to miss any information about the esteemed sorting._

 _''_ _This sorting,'' continued Madam Rochelle, ''will be the most important ceremony of your education, because while you are here, your Maison will be like your family. You will eat, sleep and attend classes with the rest of your House. Each House will also share a common room.''_

 _The children held their breath, ''There are three houses: Bellefeuille, Ombrelune and Papillonlisse. Each house has its own history and produced both powerful and graceful witches and wizards; knowing their etiquette, poise and extensive knowledge. While you are at Beauxbatons, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points._

 _''_ _At the end of the year, the house with the most points will be awarded the House Cup. A great honour. I hope each one of you will be an asset to whichever house becomes yours. If you ever need help, you can either go to your Chef de Maison, the Musketeers or any other Professor. The sorting will begin in a moment.''_

 _The student started their chatter again and talked excitably about the different houses, sorting ceremony and subjects until the large golden doors opened to reveal three long rows with children standing against the tables. The ceiling was covered in different flowers, bouquets of each sort, while some flowers hung so low that they almost touched the children's heads._

 _Small nymphs and fairies were flying around students, singing and rejoicing at their arrival,''Bienvenue, Bienvenue, nos chers enfants._ _Appartenez-vous à Bellefeuille, Ombrelune ou Papillonlisse? Que votre grâce et prestance guide vous, petits-enfants, à la Maison qui va vous rendre grand._ _Réjouissez-vous! Réjouissez-vous!''_

 _Above each table hang a flag with the house crest on them, billowing in the non-existent wind:_ _Green for Bellefeuille, Blue for Ombrelune and a gentle lavender for Papillionlisse._

 _As Hermione's gaze slipped to the front of the hall she saw three different targets standing in front of the Professors' table. Each target was covered in the House flag and colour. In front of the targets stood a small table with a bow and arrow._

 _The Headmistress signalled with her hand for silence and the singing nymphs that flew in the air quieted down for the magnificent sorting, ''My students, bienvenue sur une autre année à Beauxbâtons. I hope you had a wonderful summer break. Shall we begin?''_

 _As the Headmistress sat down, so did the already older students. After all, it was a sign of respect. Madam Rochelle stepped forward with a long list of parchment in her hand, ''When I call your name, please step forward and shoot the arrow to be sorted in your house. Abel, Marc?''_

 _A blond ten-year-old boy stepped forward, climbed the three steps onto the little podium and grabbed the bow and arrow with quivering hands. He mounted the arrow onto the bow and shot the arrow, pointing it straight-up, above his head. The arrow, now embedded with the boy's magic and morals, shot itself higher and higher in the air until it veered to the right and landed up in the lavender target._

 _''_ _Papillionlisse!'' shouted the nymphs and fairies together._

 _The boy walked happily towards the lavender table and sat down with the students, clapping and shaking their hands in a warm welcome._

 _''_ _Allert, Louis.''_

 _Again a blond ten-year-old boy stepped forward and shot the arrow. The arrow nod landed into the blue target._

 _''_ _Ombrelune!'' rejoiced the nymphs and fairies._

 _And so, the sorting went on, until,_ _''_ _Delacour, Hermione.''_

 _Hermione walked determinedly towards the little podium. Her hair was done half-up half-down with a light blue silk bow keeping her golden-brown curls together. Her blue eyes scanned the targets nervously._

 _She grabbed the bow and arrow and shot it high into the air. She watched with bated breath as the arrow veered to the left and landed in the green target._

 _''_ _Bellefeuille!'' shouted the nymphs and fairies full of happiness and pride._

 _Hermione walked shyly towards the light green table and gave each student a handshake, adorned with a small smile._

 _''_ _Bienvenue à Bellefeuille,'' said the students surrounding her._

 _As the sorting ended Madam Rochelle put the scroll away and started her speech, ''Each house represents different morals, personnages et intérêts._

 _''_ _Members of Maison Bellefeuille are lovers of nature and have a strong sense of bravery and loyalty to all they hold dear. They are caring and sensitive to the needs around them; they are hard and efficient workers and are characteristically book-smart. The students sorted into this house believe the necessities of life are what is important, prizing family and friends above all else. Bellefeuille students generally feel a strong connection with nature, are caring and kind to animals, and respects all aspects of flora and fauna._

 _''_ _They often have a good and quick perception of emotions of those around them and know how to act accordingly in most situations. The students are realists through and through, and whilst they may not be the wittiest, they surely get their work done.''_

 _The Bellefeuille students clapped and cheered in agreement._

 _''_ _Members of Maison Ombrelune live by the motto 'the end justifies the means'. They are calculating and cunning who are very adverse to irrationality and prize people for making well-thought-out decisions._

 _''_ _Ombrelune students rarely display emotions openly unless they see some direct gain in doing so. They are the most ambitious of the Beauxbatons Houses. They are smart, logical and structural. They are very curious and interested in the world and the intricate way in which it works._

 _''_ _Ombrelune students often strive for power and perfection more than anything else and are rather rational, planning to the best of whatever they do.''_

 _They Ombrelune students clapped politely at the assessment of their house and quieted down immediately, awaiting the next Maison._

 _''_ _While the students of Papillionlisse are naturally gifted in the arts. They are generally thoughtful of all others around them as well as being kind and gentle. Some students of this house have a tendency to have a fluttery personality and are very sociable people, though at the same time have a tendency to be quite spur-of-the-moment and unpredictable._

 _''_ _They are prized for their sophistication and surprising maturity at all ages; they consider beauty both of the mind and appearance above many other characteristics and are always striving to improve aesthetic qualities of life._

 _''_ _Students are often daydreamers, hopeless romantics, those that want to change the world with their idealism and undying love._

 _''_ _Those sorted in Papillionlisse value the humanist approach to the world, often learning to become a better person rather than simply gathering knowledge. They can be introverted and focused on their own internal state._

 _''_ _Papillionlisse students are often very emotional, bringing strong feelings and strong dedication into their works, but can also keep their head cool in difficult situations.''_

 _The Papillionlisse students stood up and clapped heartedly at Madam Rochelle._

 _''_ _Although these characteristics may not be exactly the same as your own the fondateurs de cette école have described themselves and their house this way; their morals and necessary ideals. May the feast be enjoyable – and welcome to another new and fresh year. Bon appétit!''_

 _Madam Rochelle walked back to the professor table as they students called collectively, ''Bon appétit Madam Rochelle, Bon appétit Directrice Maxime, Bon appétit professeurs!''_

 _The tables filled with luxurious foods from all over the world. The cuisine was to die for! The tables were adorned with beautiful flower bouquets stretching two meters in length!_

As Hermione lay her serviette gently on her lap and chose the food from the table, the memory faded away with chatter and laughter in the background and Hermione as it's last focal point, before everything went black again.

Many more letters were sent to James, telling him how much she loved him and her school and vice versa. James told about the Marauders and she, in turn, about her best friend Emily who was sorted into Bellefeuille as well as her other friend, Gabrielle.

She told him about the layout of the castle, the beautiful and ethereal gardens, the dream-like castle itself, the many fountains, the houses, the professors, the subjects, and many things more.

And in return, he wrote her essays about his friends, of their pranks, Quidditch and most of all about how he missed her every waking moment of the day. Their childlike love still present.

Having grown up together made them dependent on one another. If you found one, the other was always around. Oh, don't get her wrong, they did quibble, but rarely – and only because they wanted what's best for the other.

Hermione remembered visiting the Abraxan horses in the stables during her free period and taking care of them with permission from Professeur Adéle, the Care of Magical Creatures mistress. She remembered the beautiful gardens of Beauxbatons – that could rival even the ones of Versailles in size and beauty. But most of all, she could never forget the Bellefeuille common room.

 _''_ _Emily, hurry up! I want to sit in front of the big windows before the seats are taken. You know how popular they are.''_

 _The both of them ran hand in hand through the castle wings adorned in gold accents, windows that were stretched from the floor to the ceiling, beautiful paintings on the walls, and the reoccurrence of lightest of green silk uniforms on students the more they neared the Common Room._

 _''_ _Romarin,'' said Emily softly to the golden statue of Bellefeuille. The statue started to turn Emily turned around and laughed while adjusting her bag on her shoulder, listening as Hermione's heels clicked, in rapt succession, on the marble floor._

 _''Hermione!''_

 _''_ _I'm coming! Mon dieu, I can't run as fast as you Emily.''_

 _''_ _Well, you wanted to be here quick, that means you'd have to run faster,'' said Emily, as they locked their arms together and stepped through the archway into the common room._

 _The furniture in the room was decorated in a very pale green; the couches, the chairs, the curtains. Along the walls hang paintings where princesses, Lords and Ladies were depicted._

 _The ceiling of Bellefeuille's common room was filled with different arrays of flowers; lilies, baby's breath, white roses, greens and vines that circled the walls of the entire common room; and on each table stood a little vase of hand-plucked daisies._

 _''_ _Après-midi, Hermione. Have you finished studying for classe l'étiquette? Madam Rochelle will come in to check on our progress later today,'' said Gabrielle coming up to them. The three of them had become a tightknit group on the first day of their first year._

 _''_ _Who let you in, Gabi,'' asked Emily surprised._

 _Gabrielle, who was sorted into Papillionlisse, gave a wicked smirk and a wink, ''That doesn't matter. Well, have you finished it,'' she asked again as they walked further into the common room._

 _The girls sat down in front of the big windows and the comfiest of green chairs Hermione had ever come across and chatted until Madam Rochelle came to pick them up for Etiquette class._

Her visions swirled again and Hermione now found herself in the Ballroom of her house. It must have been Yuletide, and she, a twelve-year-old. The ball was in full swing and the guests were dressed to the nines. The men in smokings and women in dresses that dropped to the floor, shiny jewellery adorning their bodies.

 _''_ _May I have this dance,'' asked a young boy with messy black hair._

 _Hermione turned around, her rose-coloured dress swinging around her body beautifully, ''Jamie! Oh, Merci! You saved me!''_

 _James gave her a smile, his eyes twinkling, "May I?''_

 _''_ _Bien sûr.''_

 _James grabbed Hermione's dainty hand in his own and dragged her to the dance floor, just as the waltz music started. James placed his hands on her waist and in her hand, while she put her hand on his shoulder – holding her dress in her other hand and simultaneously clutching his._

 _Their eyes met and the moved fluently across the floor. Men and women stopped their dancing to look at the young children. But James and Hermione did not notice, they were far too engrossed in one another._

They danced one, two, three, six dances together without changing partners or ripping their eyes from each other. As they grew older and older, their writing stopped, for reasons unknown.

Her mind wired down and the burning sensation behind her eyes stopped. Her ragged breathing calmed and she succumbed to darkness for the very last time.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any sort of profit from this hobby. All rights are reserved for J. K. Rowling

 **Only Time Will Tell**

V: _The weeping of a broken heart_

By

 **RedLillies**

"There comes a time when the world gets quiet and the only thing left is your own heart. So you'd better learn the sound of it. Otherwise, you'll never understand what it's saying."

― **Sarah Dessen**

 **May 12** **th** **, 1975**

A light breeze of wind flittered through the flaps of the tent, creating a gust of wind that caressed the sleeping bodies of the people within. The people inside, however, paid no mind to such frivolities. The light drizzled and mingled with the morning musk of spring, creating a scent that seeped deep into the material of the tent and any clothing within.

It was a while before one of the females inside started stirring. She gave a silent but broad yawn as she stretched to wake up her body while her eyes were still closed. It took but a mere second before the woman's brows furrowed and her body stilled, listening intently to the sounds around her, hoping that it would give her a clue of where she was.

Hermione opened her eyes and noticed that her eyesight was a bit blurred. As if she had been crying for a long time. An intense headache and the burning behind her eyes, when she tried to sit upright, proved her point.

The young woman's curls were in slight disarray – mussed from sleep, tossing and turning. Her hand raised up toward her eyes to rub the sleep away in confusion. Although her body moved as if it normally would in the morning, her mind could not remember where she was, whom she was with and what went wrong during the ritual. She should have been with her adoptive parents by now.

It was weird calling them that, 'her parents'. She didn't have parents for a very long time and she missed her own. But she did not have a choice. She had to Obliviate them or they would be obliterated by Voldemort's inner circle.

Yet, even before that, her parents could not completely understand Hermione's life and change of morals; integrating from a Muggle society into a Wizarding one.

Hermione's eyes finally cleared, in what felt a long time, and looked bewildered down at herself and around her. She seemed to wear a loose white blouse tucked in her high-waist blue jeans. Her opal ring shined in the morning light and left little reflections on the tent's walls, the rays catching her line of vision, as she perused her body and outfit with her hands.

She thought in confusion about the ending of the ritual. Hermione looked intently at her hands before realizing that they seemed to be smaller than she remembered.

A small snore shocked her from her musing and she instantly looked at the girl, no older than sixteen, sleeping on the other side of the tent. If she were honest, her own body felt no older than the one of the child in front of her. The one with her back to Hermione.

The fair, blond head of hair seemed familiar to her but she could not remember the girl and connect the name to someone or a memory. The bed creaked as Hermione moved, but the sound of the girl's body moving restlessly, alerted her to stop half-way.

She paused her movement and stood all the way when the figure made no further acknowledgement of waking up. Hermione's heart shattered a little when she recognized the tent like the one Harry, Ron and she had used while on the run. She almost stumbled forward when her heart gave a little lurch, yet managed to right herself at the last minute.

If she remembered correctly, she would have to walk to the left-hand side of the tent to reach the bathroom. And that is what she did. But doing that, meant that she had to walk past the bed with the girl sleeping in it and she did not want to wake her up.

Hermione moved swiftly and stealthily towards that side of the tent. She turned around the corner and moved through the flaps into the bathroom. Her movements created a small gust of wind, causing the tent's walls to ripple as the rain kept pelting down.

As she moved further into the bathroom itself, she saw a little mirror hanging above the sink, looking more worn-down then Hermione remembered it being. She noticed, luckily, that it had no cracks in it as she approached it cautiously.

Her breath caught in her throat when she saw someone else in the mirror. She slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle the whimper that ripped out of her throat as her reflection followed her movements. Her eyes burned as she blinked to keep the tears at bay.

Her hair looked golden with smooth curls – much prettier and easier to handle than her previous hair. While her eyes were an intense blue, her nose upturned and her lips small. Her face seemed to be rather angelic looking. But the worst thing of all was that her body seemed to be reverted to one of a fifteen-year-old girl.

Her eyes welled up with tears and she seemed to be breathing with difficulty. Her hand that was still on her mouth slowly slipped from her lips as they parted in shock. Her eyes were wide, taking in her younger face.

This should not have happened.

The memories and faces of Hermione Delacour's loved ones ripped through her Occlumency walls and causing her to have agonizing pain in her head. Still, after viewing all the memories, she could just not place the reason she was in this tent with that girl.

Hermione shuffled mindlessly back to the main area of the tent. The girl in the cot once more drawing her attention. She hesitated a little before carefully walking towards the breathing figure. Hermione's hand hovered above the girl's shoulder before she made contact with her skin.

The girl groggily opened her eyes and moved her head towards her, her brows furrowed and eyes squinting, ''Hermione?''

Hermione's breath caught in her throat again. The girl did not only seem to know her name but looked as horrid as she did. Covered in cuts and bruises, her eyes tired and puffy. It seemed that she had missed those details as she was looking at the other changes on her body.

''I can't remember anything…'' Hermione whispered fearfully to the girl, backing away as her eyes blurred with tears again and her body shuffled over the floor from the girl with light blue eyes and blond hair.

''Hermione, it's me, Emily.''

 _Three giggling girls were running through the green scenery of Beauxbatons. All around them were trees that were touching the clouds with the tips of their branches, their trunks wide with old age and knowledge. The sun was hidden behind the clouds as the rain pelted down._

 _''_ _Emily, we're going to get wet,'' shouted the girl running next to Hermione._

 _Their rosy cheeks and giant smiles on their faces were not affected as the rain kept on pouring down, making their hair and uniforms stick to their faces and bodies. Their laughs billowed behind them as they ran for cover in the comforting cluster of trees._

 _''_ _Madam Rochelle will be so mad when she sees that we are not in our classes,'' giggled Hermione._

 _The girls must not have been older than twelve. One girl, called Emily, had beautiful, fair, blond hair and the lightest shade of blue, almost grey eyes. Due to her looks, many thought that she must have some descendent with Veela blood running through their veins and passed it onto her. They were nothing but that - just rumours._

 _The second girl, Gabrielle, had straight brown hair and eyes of the darkest brown that could pierce your soul with one look. The third girl had light golden hair and the bluest orbs one could ever lay eyes upon._

 _They were all different, not only in their uniforms, two green and one lavender, but in characters as well. However, there was one thing that bonded them together: friendship and their sisterly love for one another._

 _Their laughter died down when they finally found shelter under the canopy and sat on the moss-covered ground; As if the trees around them wanted to protect their young from the 'evil storm' that brewed above their heads._

 _''_ _I think that Madam Rochelle will deserve the panic she will feel when she does not find us in class,'' said Gabrielle almost with indignation, ''especially when she did nothing to help you, Emily, after those bullies put you down once again. She saw it happening! Why did she not help?'' Gabrielle's question rose in volume as her anger did too._

 _Hermione nodded her head in a silent affirmation, a frown marring her young face while agreeing with everything that Gabrielle had said._

 _Emily looked grateful at her two friends and gave a tentative chuckle, ''Thank you guys, that means a lot. Screw them ALL!'' She looked proud at her exclamation and looked towards Hermione as she began to say something._

 _''_ _Let's promise something to each other,'' the girls nodded eagerly as Hermione continued, ''Let's promise, that we will always help, love and cherish each other through high and low tide, through the darkness and the light, forever together as sisters and as friends.''_

 _The girls nodded with a happy twinkle in their eyes, ''Okay- Okay, Mondieu. Shall I start?''_

 _As Hermione cleared her throat the girls held each other hands securely and gave Hermione's a small but strong squeeze, showing emotion and support, ''We will need to hold our pinkies together like this. Yes, like that. And repeat the vow.'' The rain pelted down ever harder on the girls as if mourning this delightful occasion._

 _''_ _I, Hermione Delacour, promise with my heart and soul, to be faithful to my bosom friends, my soulmates and my sisters, Emily Charlotte Culvért and Gabrielle Apollo Faye, as long as the sun and the moon shall endure, the stars will shine, and the flowers will blossom and wilt, till the end of all days. So I swear, so mote it be.''_

 _The other two girls repeated the same vow but switched Hermione's name out for their own, swearing to each other to stay faithful._

 _And as the last vow was completed and the earth had bound them forever in their souls' heart, the final lock fell in place with a resounding thud and sealed their faiths._

The girl named Emily watched concerned as Hermione began to hyperventilate. The girl pulled the covers from her legs, stood up and walked slowly towards Hermione as if she was a skittish animal and fell to her knees in front of her.

All the memories of the girls rushed to the forefront of her mind like she was pulled in a sequence of pensive memories in a millisecond. Her eyes fluttered to that of her distressed friend.

Hermione reached her hand towards Emily giving her the support she clearly needed.

Emily's face filled with sudden anguish, ''I'm sorry, I didn't know what was going to happen. I did not anticipate it. They said it was safe,'' Emily said, almost sobbing.

Hermione felt as if the question of why she was in the tent would not have a happy answer. She pleaded to her friend, ''What are you going on about? Emily, please, explain.''

The girl shook her head, grabbed Hermione's hand tighter and collapsed further to her knees, her legs giving out from under her. Hermione became even more nervous, following the girl's reaction.

The girl's face crumpled even more and was hard to understand through her loud sobs, ''We were walking down Allée de Rose – shopping. We thought it was safe, that it was fine going alone. We took such caution. We had just read of _them_ infiltrating France. You kept saying that something felt off but we still went. You took your little bag with you – the one that you keep insisting of always having nearby in case of an emergency.

 _Those instincts of the war must have bled into this 'new' me_ , Hermione thought sadly.

''We were talking, laughing and looking at clothes in Adele's Boutique when we suddenly heard explosions and fighting; gunshots and people screaming,''

Hermione looked at Emily's crying face in horror but kept mercifully quiet.

''You ran to the front of the shop with your wand out, ready to fight, when the front windows exploded and you got knocked back. We tried to help you up but you shrugged us off. Then _they_ got in,'' Emily said the last sentence with hatred, ''and started shooting spells at you. We didn't know what to do. We just stood there petrified.''

Emily's voice became more sad and shameful as she spoke those words. She looked upwards, collected herself and continued, ''You told us to run to the back of the store, to hide in the storage room and we did,'' she whispered, ''we could hear you screaming and crying but we knew that we didn't stand a chance. No one came to help us. And we listened, Hermione, we listened, we stayed in the room. You told us to stay in the room. You always said that if something like this ever happened, to listen to you without question.'' Emily looked at Hermione as she pleaded for forgiveness with a look in her eyes that hoped, beyond measure, that Hermione could find it in herself to forgive her.

Emily choked on a sob, ''But we couldn't have known that they knew that the Boutique had a back door. We had our backs turned when there was a big explosion. They promised that they would be near to help us, Hermione, THEY PROMISED.'' The girl got even more distressed.

She looked at Hermione like she held all the answers in the world; as if she was the only one that could grant her, her wishes of compassion – of understanding.

''They had told us that morning that they would protect us,'' the girl continued, ''We were both thrown back by the explosion. And we got separated. I lost her, Hermione, I lost her. The flames were burning her body and I couldn't do a thing, Hermione. I am supposed to be BRAVE!'' Emily shook her head heavily. Her sobs wracked her body.

''She pleaded for me to make it stop but I looked in her eyes as she was being burned alive. She was DYING and I didn't help her. Then you ran to me and grabbed me by my hand."

Emily's eyes kept their focus on Hermione's, not breaking away for a second, ''We walked towards the front window and ran to the end of the Allée. Nobody ever came. Bodies were littered in the streets. Women, children and men. The smell of burning flesh clung to my LUNGS. We stumbled over bodies and bodies that were stacked upon each other."

''We turned around the corner and waited. You said it was imperative that we waited but no one ever CAME!'' Emily quieted down considerably but her eyes were still wide and unseeing.

''Who would come, Emily?'' but Hermione was ignored.

''You Apparated us to this forest, grabbed the tent from your little purse and said that I wasn't allowed to leave the tent until you put up the wards. You were covered in cuts and bruises. HERMIONE,'' she suddenly screamed, ''she asked me not to leave her!''

Hermione felt tears running down her cheeks and the beast of dread rose in her gut, ''Who was with us Emily, who was it?'' Hermione sounded almost desperate to get the answer out of her. It didn't matter at the moment why she looked like this, why the ritual went wonky, why she wasn't with her adoptive parents.

''Les Chevaliers de la Reine should have protected us – remember? The extension of the Order of the Phoenix. They told us they would. They told us it was safe for us to go outside.'' Emily became frantic again.

''Their message came to us unannounced with the Phoenix. Why did it not take us to safety, why did it leave us here?''

''Emily, who died?'' The girl shook her head heavily not wanting to say the name out loud again.

Emily pleaded quietly with her, ''Please, please.'' She kept on saying the words in a continuous loop.

Hermione moved forward and grabbed Emily's face in both her hands, forcing her to look in Hermione's eyes, pleading with her words, ''Emily, please, I need to know. Who was it?''

Hermione held her breath afraid of the name that would soon slip from Emily's lips.

Emily's mouth was pursed and she continued shaking her head. ''Emily, please!'' Hermione's shout finally came through to her but the name she whispered was far too soft for Hermione to pick up.

''Emily,'' said Hermione forcefully but with kindness, her voice laden with desperation.

Hermione held her breath as she saw Emily form the first few syllables of the name with her lips, repeating it a couple of times before saying it loud enough for Hermione to hear.

''Gabrielle.''

Hermione's hold on Emily's face slackened. ''No,'' she whispered horrified, ''please tell me it wasn't Gabrielle.''

Emily gave a loud sob that confirmed her fears. Memories of a sweet little brown-haired girl holding her hand during the sorting; sitting in classes with her and Emily. Them three, playing in the beautiful gardens of Beauxbatons together, free periods spent with the three of them laughing, talking and playing tag, rushed to the forefront of Hermione's mind.

Although 'old' Hermione did not know her, as she labelled herself, the 'new' one certainly did. She was special to her. She was like a little sister and her heart wept.

Hermione shook her head to clear the onslaught of memories and embraced the crying girl, holding her tightly, ''Je t'aime, Emily, Je t'aime. You did what you could.''

Hermione could say nothing more to the distraught girl to make her feel better, so she continued stroking Emily's hair and murmuring loving assurances in her ear.

When Emily fell asleep from exhaustion, Hermione levitated her to her cot and tucked her in. She wiped her eyes, grabbed her wand more firmly in her hand, and walked outside to try to figure out to what forest she Apparated.

As Hermione breathed in the cold morning air she gave a choked laugh as she recognized where she was. Those trees, that little creak in the far corner and the dampness of the woods would forever be ingrained in her mind, ''The Forest of Dean,'' she whispered.

She began to giggle deliriously, her laugh echoing in the still silent forest until the air caught in her throat and the giggles turned to sobs. Fat tears rolled down her cheeks and mixed with the rain droplets touching her hair and cheeks. She looked a little down the hill from where the tent stood and swore she could see Harry's body bleeding from the snake bite and her helping him.

When she looked to the left, she could visualize herself and Harry laying on a blanket by the conjured fire looking at the starry night, pointing out stars and sharing fond memories; their hands entwined.

 _''_ _Do you think they are up there, in the sky, looking after us, my mum and dad,'' Harry_ _asked c_ _arefully, afraid to ruin the peace._

 _Hermione looked at him and then back to the clear night, ''Do you see those stars, Harry," she pointed to a small cluster in the east, high in the sky, "I think that they are not just stars, Harry, but rather openings in heaven where the lost ones shine down to let us know that they are happy, that they are watching after us. So yes Harry, I do believe your mum and dad will always be with you, looking out for you.''_

She remembered the small happy moments that happened here. But she could also smell the terror of keeping Harry safe, of running from the snatchers. They were running through the storm of war, through the night, running in the dark, to the direction their instincts, their desperation and heart, tried to lead. She could still feel the moment when her hopes started to fall down and she slowly fell apart – slowly falling into the dark.

The cold shivers of Malfoy Manner, of the marble floor, seeped into Hermione's bones once more. Before she the memory could take root in her conscious, she tried stopping herself, before pushing that particular memory behind her Occlumency blocks.

Alas, at the thought of her torture, she felt the storm in her mind slowly trickle in as the rain pelted on without a care. She felt the light turn out and the cold seep in once more. Her fingers traced the letters that should have been marring her body, yet all she felt was smooth skin, of how it felt before her scars and hardships; before everything.

But it was so hard to let go, to let the past disappear, to try to untie from her old life, to let the deaths of the ones around her go. But even in her 'new' life the dark still seemed to drag her down.

 _I could make an entire list of my loved ones who were either murdered or died naturally_ , she thought shakily.

Hermione did not want to acknowledge that the Headmaster had meddled in her life, once again, catching her off guard. So, she did what she did best. She planned their escape, her and Emily's. She rationalized that the men that destroyed the Allée must have come for them.

If that were true, they had to move. And fast. As soon as her instincts kicked in, and she ran towards the tent, she heard a whispered conversation that was held, oh, so, long ago.

 _''_ _Mione?''_

 _''_ _Yes, Harry?''_

 _Harry sat in front of her with his back against the bark of the tree. His green eyes assessed Hermione with great interest. His eyes flickered to Hermione's wand in his hand and to her face again. After a moment of silence, she put her finger in between the pages of the book and looked up properly at his face instead of the lettered pages of her old and worn-down book._

 _''_ _Will you promise me something,'' he asked hesitantly almost scared._

 _He shivered as the snowflakes fell from the dark grey sky, his breath came out as visible puffs and pulled the blanket closer to his body._

 _''_ _Anything…''_

 _''_ _Will you promise me, that if you ever have the chance to love again, that you'll grab the chance with both hands? You have been through so much, Mione. Let the person who makes you laugh, who will keep you strong; but who will also lend you his shoulder when you need to cry. Someone who will tell you every day that he loves you, in? Please let him in. Please love again. Love that person for me. Give him the love that I could never give to Ginny.''_

 _Hermione swallowed hard and walked towards him, her blanket tight around her body. His eyes watched her vulnerable as she sat next to him and linked their arms together._

 _''_ _I will Harry.''_

 _''_ _Thank you,'' Harry said with relief lacing his tone._

 _''_ _But will you promise me something as well?''_

 _Harry nodded and Hermione turned her body more towards him, facing him better, ''Will you promise me that you will do your best to survive, to live - to actually live - if I am no longer around? Will you remember me, Harry?''_

 _''_ _Always…''_

•

Hermione and Emily continued on tracking for days through the woods, collecting water and food. Rationing when needed and eating only berries and the lone animal. They tried to limit their Magic as not to be able to be tracked and did everything by foot.

Emily and Hermione were sweating and puffing when they finally decided to make camp and rest for the night. The half-moon shining like a beacon in the rather cloudy night. The wind around Birmingham in Kinver Forest was warmer than in the Forest of Dean, but it was still freezing cold. It was raining again and it was hard to collect dry wood for a fire.

Yet, they made it happen. After some mere moments, their freezing and shivering hands could slowly feel the warmth trickling in through their skin, soaking up the heat from the small and pitiful fire in the cold May night.

They had not contacted their parents. Hermione was confused as to why, but after Emily's explanation about its consequences, she stopped asking.

As the fire roared and their bodies were sufficiently warmed, Hermione reached towards her beaded bag and opened it. She extracted several old papers that she deemed were important. Why would she have them otherwise?

Emily looked on curiously at Hermione's actions before she saw the headline of France's established newspaper _Le Massager_ – her eyes seemed pained and they returned to the fire.

That particular action caught Hermione's eyes and she wondered what had caused such a reaction of the otherwise happy girl. Her eyes stayed on Emily's face, sat her wand next to her on the leafy ground and grabbed the first paper of the stack. Her eyes slid back to the lettered pages in her hands.

* * *

 **The destruction of Beauxbatons causes mass-outcry in Wizarding France**

 **May 2** **nd** **, 1975. Written by Jean Bovary.**

 _A green mark hung ominously in the black smoke of a burning building. Its serpentine tong flickered from a skull that moved fluidly above the ruins of the once beautiful Beauxbatons, Academy of Magic._

 _It was a peaceful morning for the Beauxbatons students. Life seemed as usual. They had breakfast, went to classes and enjoyed their time as friends and classmates. That is, until the Emergency Alarm went off at midday, causing panic and hysteria among the students and staff._

 _Black-cloaked wizards appeared and surrounded the school. The wizards started shooting deadly spells that caught many students and staff that were outside at the time. Only a small portion of the students was harmed in the first wave, due to the ongoing lessons at the time._

 _Then came the second wave. The wizards infiltrated the school and started killing staff and students in the halls on sight. Panic rose and students and staff hid in many places, hoping that they would reach safety. For many, however, that was not the case._

 _A big portion of the students was trapped inside classrooms, stuck, without a way to run for cover. They were tortured first, officials presume, some were set on fire and the rest that was_ _'spared', were locked in as the wizards suffocated them with poisonous gas._

 _The students who managed to hide, however, mostly died in the third wave. They were hiding in the classrooms, hidden rooms, dormitories and any alcove they could find._

 _The black-cloaked Wizards seemed to be sending a message, or so the people at the Department of Law Enforcement think. Sending blood-supremacist propaganda out on the continent, in France._

 _''_ _They wanted to leave a mark, and what better place to start than the most esteemed school of Magic: Beauxbatons. The action behind the movement is called 'The Blood Purge', indicating that those of 'lesser value' are not allowed to live.'' – Amelia Bones, Great Britain's DMLE's representative._

 _The fourth and last wave is still ongoing. The students that escaped the attack are being hunted down. One by one. Why, you may ask? To the attackers, they are deemed special. In what way, however, the DMLE have no clue._

 _Sympathizers of the cause call them 'Lucifer's Angels'. Those children were 'born', as a matter of speaking, from bloodshed and death. Escaping, fleeing into the world, leaving a bloodbath behind. The survivors are rumoured to be assets to their cause, or so those sympathizers say._

 _The DMLE of France and Great-Britain, speculate that they escaped due to their knowledge of the secret passageways that led to the stables, kitchens and the underground sewer system. Both governments stress that the survivors do not seek contact with the outside world and hide as best as they can – to lay low._

 _''_ _These are dark, peril times, there is no denying. Our world has perhaps, faced no greater threat than it does today. But I say this to our loyal citizens. We, ever your knights, will continue to defend you and our freedom, equality and brotherhood – Liberté, égalité et fraternité – and repel the forces that seek to take it from us. Your Ministry remains united and strong.'' – Mistress of Magic, Madam Laflamme._

 _A powerful speech by our esteemed Mistress of Magic. May we stand united and strong. Nous sommes Unis!_

* * *

A picture of burning Beauxbatons seemed to replay itself again and again on the front pages as Hermione reread the story. She looked up at Emily again and back to the stack of newspapers scattered around her. She grabbed them and lay them on her lap, looking for a specific edition with a furrow in her brow.

May 10th seemed to be sticking out in her mind. The date flashed repeatedly until she found that same edition covering the attack in Allée de Rose. Her academic heart gave a victorious lurch and she searched the pages for the article.

It seemed that the article stretched from page two to page five, detailing everything that could be linked to the attack.

* * *

 **The fallen and survivors of Allée de Rose.**

 **May 10** **th** **, 1975. Written by Jean Bovary.**

 _Total chaos. That's what it was when I walked through the ruins of the once beautiful Allée de Rose. The rubbles of the once magnificent blockwork lay in heaps on the ground with tendrils of smoke emitting from them._

 _It was a ghost town. When I and my team arrived a couple hours after the attack, the ministry and the Aurors had not yet arrived to take the bodies of the fallen and clean up the debris. Not one single official was there._

 _We waited a couple of hours more before the Auror-squad showed up. Reinforcement started patrolling the streets only then, and we, from Le Massager, want to know why they did not patrol the streets before the attack – as was promised to the masses._

 _When we asked the Head Auror what happened they supplied us with an official statement._

 _''_ _We are deeply sorry for the people and the families that we lost today. We hope to find the quickest solution to our problem and stop this terrorist group from attacking any more places in France. Liberté, égalité et fraternité. United we stand, divided we lose. Thank you.''_

 _Not much of an official reason we must say. But when we started digging further, with the help of our British allies, we found out that these terrorists call themselves 'Death Eaters', and had enforced their fifth wave of attack; purging the streets and public spaces, in addition to any scholarly institutions._

 _Not once, in the history of Wizarding France, have we seen such hatred in blood. This event will result in the this First Blood War within our continent._

 _May the dead rest in peace and the living survive._

 _List of the victims: page 3._

 _Attack-related to the 'Death Eaters': page 5._

 _Timeline of the First Blood War: page 5._

* * *

Hermione knew that a lot of information was being held back on this attack in particular. The article was much shorter and less detailed than the previous one. But the question was by whom.

 _Is it possible that the papers were already being censored, that the ministry is covering the Death Eaters' tracks?_ she thought with some revulsion.

Emily heaved a deep sigh, ''Do you think it will be over soon?''

Hermione looked up at her as she was staring into the fire, ''The war, you mean?''

The soft embers of the fire reflected on their faces, dancing gently in the harsh environment.

''Yeah,'' Emily said softly. Her voice quivered – her sadness seeped through even when she tried to cover it.

Hermione decided not to question the tone of voice and answered despondently, ''No. I don't think it will.''

''Everything is changing now, isn't it?''

Emily looked at Hermione's face – assessing it closely, ''It will, but that is life. Everything will eventually change. And all we can do is look on as it does. However, there is one thing that we need to remember. Do you know what that is,'' Hermione and Emily both leaned a bit forward as Emily shook her head, ''We have each other. We can do this. Whatever comes our way, we will handle it together.''

Hermione sounded terrified but convincing. Her eyes shone with the grim reality of it all.

Emily gave a look of pure relief and looked back at the night sky that peeked through the parted clouds, ''Do you think that some five billion years from now, after everything is burned to a crisp, or even swallowed by the sun, where there will be other worlds and stars and galaxies coming into being – will they question the existence of a place called earth and not know that it once thrived,'' Emily tipped her head towards Hermione as she spoke, however did not look her way, ''Do you think we will be forgotten – the same as the earth will be?''

The statement left Hermione gaping a little. Hermione's mouth moved open and close like a fish out of water.

Emily continued, ''Did you know that I always dreamed to achieve something, to make a change in this world. To say that I meant something in someone's life. To prove to the world that I made a difference – that I was here. Maybe by becoming the Mistress of Magic or by having a job in Law Enforcement, to help men and women. But I am afraid, that after all this time, my dreams are nought.''

A wistful smile graced her young face but was blown away by the harsh reality. She stood up, gave Hermione a small 'good night' and walked towards the tent.

And as Hermione saw Emily's back retreat in the tent, she became determined, once more, laying in wait, alert for every movement. She grabbed her wand tightly as the minutes on the clock ticked by and the sun rose tentatively in the horizon...

•

 **September 1st** , **1975**

 _Crack._ Hermione's eyes and head shot up as she looked around her. Her hand tightened unconsciously around her wand.

She heard another sound – this time from behind. _Crack_. She turned around swiftly. Her heart pounded in her chest. Whispers were heard around her and her head swivelled from left to right. Her body turning with her movements. This was no animal.

Heart pounding and blood rushing through her ears, she ran silently towards the tent.

''Em, rapide. Wake up! We've got to go.''

Hermione magicked everything into her beaded bag, ''Rapide!''

Emily stood up, threw the covers over her leg and was instantly alert. She dressed quickly and exited the tent as fast as possible. The tent collapsed in itself and was sent into her bag awaiting its next use.

Hermione felt her wards being probed and looked widely around her once again.

''They are coming, aren't they?'' Tears shown in Emily's eyes and she gave a small sob but held her wand in her hand resolutely – not letting go.

''Emily, when I tell you to run, do it. Don't look back. Don't come for me. Run as fast as you can and go somewhere where you can hide. Apparate if you need to – don't fear of being splinched,'' Emily whimpered, ''rather that, then being captured.''

Hermione's voice spoke of experience, but before Emily could reply, the wards fell, and something tore itself from Hermione's body.

''Go!'' She shrieked as she doubled over.

They both ran from each other in different directions. Hermione felt dread curling up in her toes and rushing towards her stomach as Emily ran farther and farther away.

Hermione's feet padded loudly on the hilly landscape of Kinver Forest. Her feet jumped over logs and almost tripped on branches that had once fallen to the ground. Her hair whipped around her face and her scarf billowed behind her. She was painting and sprinting as fast as she could.

Her breath was coming quick and short but it wasn't preventing her from keeping her legs moving. Her muscles were starting to ache, yet she dropped her pace not once. Her wand in one hand and the strap of her bag held tightly in the other.

A colourful light shot passed her body and exploded not far from her, shooting bits of wood in her face. The splinters that flown into her face, were soaked with blood as they left marks on her unblemished skin. the blood, now flowing freely from her face, trickled down her hairline and almost into her eyes. Nevertheless, she never stopped running.

"Bombarda," she yelled, pointing her wand behind her. And as the ground exploded, the men that once followed her, shot into the air and crashed into tree trunks or the ground. They growled as she ran farther and farther away from them again. She had just gotten somewhat of a head start before they began to stand up, continuing their chase.

Her breath came out laboured as she looked wildly around her, searching for a way out, but more and more black-cloaked men kept coming. They seemed to be closing in on her – surrounding her.

The panic that once started in the tips of her toes now spread all the way to her brain. Tendrils of irrational fear curled around her mind, a black goo that did want to let her poisonous tentacles go.

Her face turned distressed and she stopped suddenly, pivoting around as she heard a high-pitched scream, ''HERMIONE!''

Hermione watched as the black-cloaked men surrounded her. The tips of their wands glowing with the spells that lay on the tips of their tongues.

But she was too quick. The men swore as she turned on her heel and Apparated to where she hoped Emily was.

Hermione's eyes opened and saw more men surrounding a bloodied Emily. She counted them. There were no more than three.

Hermione started shooting off curses and spells knocking them to the ground. Emily's body curled more in its self as Hermione defended them. Her blood seeped into the lush green grass, pooling around her.

As the last one fell, Hermione turned her head towards Emily and gave a distressed sound. It was a horrifying mix of a shriek and a choking sound. Emily's name spilt from her mouth like a chant.

She fell onto her knees and crawled in the blood-stained grass. Hermione's hands groped Emily's body in the hope of finding the cause of her bleeding.

''Stay with me, please, stay with me.''

Hermione looked up startled as the once unconscious men became animated again. Hermione's eyes searched for a sign on Emily's face and seemed to have found it.

Rapidly, Hermione cradled Emily's body gently in her arms, ''I'm sorry, Em, this is going to hurt. Hold on, please.'' Hermione's pitiful prayers were heard in the clearing.

She held her body more securely and her eyes closed. ''Follow them!'' She heard before Hermione Apparated them from one location to another, not staying anywhere longer than a second.

She Apparated to all different locations in England, jumping only small distances. The landscapes were blurred as they passed more and more places. Hermione looked down worriedly at Emily's body and Apparated one last time. This time a big jump.

The laughing sound of children was heard as they landed on the soft, vibrant, green grass right outside the border of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The wards sizzled warningly – trying to keep them out.

Hermione looked at her surroundings in silent awe before being pulled back to reality by a pitiful whimper.

''Emily,'' screamed Hermione, shocking many students that were walking on the grounds into action. The student's mouth stood agape. They were shocked to see the scene in front of them. Two young girls full of cuts and bruises, extremely malnourished and blood coating their young skin.

Another anguished scream came out of Hermione's mouth and the students visibly flinched.

Hermione held the whimpering girl tightly in her arms and rocked on her knees, whispering to her friends' body. The students around her were shouting for help, for the teachers and Hermione's attention but she ignored them all.

Hermione created an invisible bubble around them, warding any danger and sounds off. Her golden hair stuck to her blood-matted face as if it was painted on. The red clashed incredible with her vibrant blue eyes, that were now even more striking due to the contrast of blood and blue – making them glow while the air around the pair seemed to be crackling with magic.

Red and golden sparks snapped around them, causing some of the students to take a step back from the volatile, aggressive and unpredictable magic.

Emily began to cough up blood as Hermione began to sing a lullaby, trying to calm the dying witch. Tears streaked down her face. Her voice laden with emotion caught in her throat.

A man in orange coloured robes almost flew their way. His beard and half-moon glasses prominent features on his face.

''Miss Delacour,'' he said softly, yet clear enough to be heard through the protective bubble. Hermione's head shot up, meeting the grey ones of the Headmaster. She shook her head and continued singing the lullaby.

Hermione's blatant ignoring of the Headmaster attracted more students than there previously were, standing around her 'wards'.

''You have to hand her over. She will die otherwise.'' The forceful voice of the Headmaster carried through the wards once more.

Hermione cocked her head and paused in her signing. She grabbed her wand and looked back at Emily's body, still alert and watching Dumbledore's every movement. Hermione's hand rose tentatively to Emily's face, put a lock of hair behind her ear and kissed her forehead.

Her hand rose once again and waved her wand in an intricate movement as the barrier that was created by her accidental magic pulsed and seeped into the ground. The ground, in return, soaked up the magic of their Witch.

The moment the barrier fell completely the Headmaster scooped up the girl's mangled body and rushed to the Hospital Wing, leaving Hermione broken, bloodied and bruised sitting on the grounds as the students held their breath not daring to make any movement at all.

Her body sagged to the ground, not knowing what to do with herself. The students could only look on as they had no clue what to do to help the distressed Witch as she broke down into sobs.

The morning that was once peaceful at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry drastically changed – and as the earth felt Hermione's pain and sorrow; the trees, animals and flowers sang their own song of deep and utter sadness and mourning, reflecting what their Witch felt inside, and feeding the figurative darkness that slowly, like tar, coated them all, trying to slowly drown them in its clutches.

 _Pray, behold us, good sir_

 _We were once bright flowers;_

 _But the sharp scythe falls,_

 _And the whole field cowers…_

 **An: Thank you all so much for such loving support. I am seriously so thankful for all your comments and favouriting this story. Especially the people who decide to follow this story: THANK YOU SO MUCH! I am still somewhat uncertain about my writing style, so, if you wouldn't mind, could you please leave a comment behind? xx**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any sort of profit from this hobby. All rights are reserved for J. K. Rowling (Song: Ой стага, стага - Кубанский Казанский хор)

 **Only Time Will Tell**

VI: _Will you stay when it hurts?_

By

 **RedLillies**

"I DON'T CARE!" Harry yelled at them, snatching up a lunascope and throwing it into the fireplace. "I'VE HAD ENOUGH, I'VE SEEN ENOUGH, I WANT OUT, I WANT IT TO END, I DON'T CARE ANYMORE!"  
"You do care," said Dumbledore. He had not flinched or made a single move to stop Harry demolishing his office. His expression was calm, almost detached. "You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it."  
― **J.K. Rowling**

 **September 3rd, 1975**

The bell clocks were chiming in the background as she sat in the Hospital Wing once again. This time as a different person, with different memories, a different history – but still the same person altogether; The same morals, same character, same devotion as she had before.

This time, however, she was not the one laying in the sterile beds. She sat in the chair beside the shallow breathing girl holding her hand tightly and laying her head on their clasped hands.

A crow landed on the window-sill outside and crowed loudly at the scene he saw through the window and flew away, leaving his darkness in its wake.

Tears flowed steadily down her face as she murmured to the sleeping girl. Her head moved from side to side, rubbing her forehead into their clasped hands. As if being doing that, her mind would clear and she would become less distressed. Hermione lifted her gaze towards the girl once again and tentatively reached her hand towards the girl's temple, stroking her hair back.

Little ways from the bed stood both the Headmaster and the Medi-Witch arguing softly as they watched the scene play out before them.

''Albus, this cannot go on any longer. She is destroying herself! She is not eating, not sleeping, does not acknowledge anyone. Do something for Merlin's sake!'' The woman hissed towards the yellow-clad man.

Albus Dumbledore heard the words of the worried witch through a haze. His attention not on the Healer but on Hermione. He cocked his head to the side and looked at the scene with rapt attention as Hermione paid no attention to her surroundings and slowly but surely fell apart.

He contemplated how Hermione dealt with her compassion to the girl she in actuality knew only for a little time and not six years as was believed.

This vulnerable girl did not resemble the one he left behind. He made her believe that he would never again meddle in her life, yet disregarded her wishes and decisions. He still waited for her outburst of keeping such information from her.

What the Headmaster, however, missed during his careful assessment was the look in her eyes. Her mind protected itself with layers and layers of self-defence. Tricking the person into thinking she felt or thought one way, all the while she felt something entirely different.

That is what made Hermione so strong; Her ability to manipulate her thoughts and expressions, when she wanted to, made it so hard to read her properly.

Her face betrayed once again nothing. Yet, the deep burning inside her eyes told us of a whole different story.

One of determination, anger and indignation. But the strongest one, the one that shined the brightest in this very moment, was love. The familial love she felt for the girl lying in the hospital bed, almost translucent and vulnerable, was great.

Hermione had just escaped a life filled with both adventure, love, but first and foremost death and bloodshed. And now, once again, without her wanting to, the world decided that she once more was to experience the heartache of losing her loved ones.

Even if, she knew the people, that her memories supplied only shortly, the loyalty and love she felt for those, burned with intensity, deep inside her. The outing of her love for them was a subconscious action. Her worries for them were a subconscious action. It was like second nature.

And even though, Hermione accepted her life mostly as it was, she still could not help but feel the deep-seated betrayal in her heart that blossomed like a new-born leaf in early spring.

 _How could he have done this to me? He played me, once again,_ she thought with some sort of disappointment.

 _All this talk of not recognizing the person that I described to him, vehemently disagreeing with my prediction of his character, not heeding my words and still marching on with his manipulations and games of the people's minds and lives._

Hermione had still a long way to go before she would see the figurative light at the end of the tunnel. It would be a long time before she would be able to look behind the bloodshed and the deaths to the hope and the pro's in her situation.

•

The Medi-Witch slapped the Headmaster on his arm snapping him back from his evaluation.

''I'm serious, Albus, this cannot go on any longer. I can't help her. All their physical wounds are healed but the girl's mental ones are still bleeding. Talk to her. I beg of you!''

The Headmaster nodded once but made no move of going to talk to the girl.

''Have you contacted her parents?''

Dumbledore turned his head towards the Medi-Witch and without saying a word, looked back to Hermione.

''You- You haven't- Albus, what were you thinking?! Her parents might be worried sick!''

The Medi-witch sighed with frustration, threw her hands into the air and walked resignedly back to her office, giving up on convincing the Headmaster.

Dumbledore's face fell blank the moment that the Medi-Witch was in her office. Gone was the twinkle in his eyes. Gone was the grandfatherly and caring expression on his face. Gone was the attentive look. No, all of them were gone, replaced by a hard, calculating look.

He looked up and down, to and from the air surrounding his silencing bubble. The air rippled with an invisible blue light, confirming that, yes, his wards were still up, but weak.

He raised his wand-hand into the air, holding his pale wand gently between his thumb and index finger. His wand curled in many different movements, writing in ancient languages, drawing the invisible figures from one side to the other and, lastly, dragging a long straight line right into the ground where it disappeared with a great pulse of magic in the stone floors of the Hospital Wing.

The last movement of the silent warding gave a magnetic pulse, flashed brightly light-blue for a split second, and was invisible once again. Dumbledore nodded, satisfied with his work. He stood up from his crouched position and walked right out of the Hospital Wing towards his office.

Hermione stopped humming and looked up from Emily's body as the Headmaster closed the heavy doors behind him.

Hermione was not oblivious. She had felt their presence. She saw them standing there, discussing her. She felt the magical pulses vibrate through her body – through the air. She saw the intricate warding. She felt and saw it all but made no movement of acknowledgement.

She did not want to let them know that she could hear them, could see them. No, no more. She would keep her cards much more close to her chest from now on.

She found that there were certain similarities between Dumbledore and Madam Maxine, the Headmistress of Beauxbatons; behind the glitz and the 'glamour' of both schools. She now understood why Fleur reacted to them the way she did in the first place.

 _One manipulated us to the point of having no control over our thoughts, through his actions and his words, while the other tried to implant a doctrine in her children; that anyone who did not come from Wizarding France was dirt beneath our feet,_ Hermione reminiscent.

Madam Maxine taught them that the students of Beauxbatons should be treated like royalty and nothing less. Dumbledore and Madam Maxine were the same, in the way that they took people's choices away. The choice to form their own opinion in this world. It was either follow the rules they set up or be an outcast in their made up society.

 _Dumbledore tried his best to teach us values that had no real merit. He wanted us – Harry, Ron and me – to think that the sun orbited around us. He failed miserably, but tried and tried so hard, to instil the philosophy that the rest of the Wizarding world was scum compared to us._

 _They were poor, they were diseased and dirty, some were lazy and shiftless, but never in my life, in my Muggle-born life was I given the idea by my parents, and surroundings, that I should despise them, the rest of the Wizarding World, or think that I could mistreat someone and get away with it. We were not more important than the rest of the civilization, as Dumbledore made us out to be._

 _I was taught never to take advantage of anybody who was less fortunate than myself, whether he be less fortunate in brains, wealth, or social position. I was given to understand that the reverse was despised._

 _But a man who played the game of life, who slipped into the role of God without permission, who thought only in 'the Greater Good', and failed miserably, who has lived by his truths for his whole life and makes you believe them – he does not leave you merely wary when he fails you, he leaves you with nothing._

 _And that is what happened now._

 _Dumbledore left me, once again with nothing. No feelings towards him, no power to make my own decisions, and especially no power over my own heart; who I should love and who not._

Emily gave a painful sounding moan as she slowly opened her eyes and Hermione's head snapped back to Emily, ''Ma soeur,'' whispered Hermione softly. Her attention all on Emily, again, afraid that she would disappear once more.

''Bonjour,'' she looked to Hermione with confused eyes, ''have you been eating properly, why haven't you showered, you look dreadfully tired– ''

''Em, stop. Stop! Now is not the time. I have been worried sick about you,'' Hermione slid Emily's hair gently from her sweat-covered face with her hand, careful not to tear open any small wounds.

''I'm sorry,'' Emily replied tearfully, her face guilt-ridden with the realisation of how and why they came to be in this situation, ''I failed her again. I failed you again. I-''

Hermione shook her head, ''Shhh. No, no, there is absolutely no need. Don't cry, please. None of this was your fault. It's okay, everything will be okay. I should be the one apologizing for not doing better, for not helping you more.''

''Hermione–''

''No, it's okay. You will be okay. We are going to be looked after right now.'' Emily nodded and looked around the place. ''Do you know where we are, Em?''

Emily shook her head in negative affirmation, ''Non.''

''We're at Hogwarts,'' Hermione said brightly but still in a whispered voice, putting up a brave front, ''We are safe. You remember, don't you, about how I told you about Hogwarts, all those stories?''

Emily's weak body gave a tentative smile, ''Oui, I do.''

''Well, it will be amazing. We will finally have shelter, we will be looked after. We are finally safe, Em, can you believe it, after all this time?''

''Thank you, ma petite soeur, for everything you've done.''

''There is really no need–''

Emily grabbed Hermione hand tightly in her own fragile one, ''Yes, there is. Thank you, Hermione.''

Hermione nodded tearfully, too afraid to speak, as though she would burst into tears if a syllable would slip past her pursed lips.

''Will you sing me that song, the one your grandmother taught you?'' Emily asked carefully, knowing that it was a sensitive topic.

''The one grandma Anna told us about, the one from the Muggle war in Russia?'' Hermione asked to clarify.

''Yes, please. That's my favourite song, you know,'' said Emily as an afterthought, hoping that by saying those words, it would soften the emotional blow Hermione might feel while singing the song.

''I know, Em, I love you,'' Hermione assured her.

''Je t'aime aussi,'' replied Emily full with love and conviction.

Hermione closed her eyes and remembered her Grandma Anna, or Anastasiya, both as Hermione Granger and Hermione Delacour, who taught her everything she knew. Her values, her morals, songs and stories from life in old Russia. Stories that Grandma Anna herself was told when she was little.

Oh, the stories she would tell. The brave tales of how her Grandfather fought in the Muggle military, trying to save the people, to not let them get tortured, to give them a safe haven; a safe house. The stories Grandma Anna told, of the bloodshed that she and her lost love saw.

 _The clinking of teacups was heard. Two women, or rather, one woman and one child, sat across each other. Each with a cup of tea and a saucer in their hands. The fine white porcelain shone in the fire-lit room. The whites of the cup contrasting strongly with the red flowery decoration of a traditional Russian tea-set._

 _The woman's greying hair was pulled back loosely in a bun. Her hair, even after all those years, was delicately and aristocratically styled. The woman looked over the rim of her cup at her grand-child in front of her. She nodded once and her wrinkled hands, that spoke of knowledge and experience, put the saucer and the teacup on the little wooden table in front of her._

 _''_ _Right. I think you are old enough.''_

 _Hermione shot a questioning look at her grandmother and put the teacup gently on the table, waiting silently for what her grandmother was about to say._

 _The almost ten-year-old looked on curiously as her grandmother stood up carefully, shuffled over the worn carpeted floor and clicked on a Gaslamp, making the room only a little brighter than before. The flames flickered harshly in the dimly-lit room, giving Hermione a sense of foreboding._

 _Her grandmother's eyes moved to a big cupboard in the corner of the room and shuffled towards it. Her fingertips cautiously touched a necklace around her neck, where a key lay nestled between her breast, tucked under her blouse, out of sight._

 _She pulled the chain delicately off her neck and caressed the key before carefully inserting it in one of the key-holes inside the cupboard. She looked through one, then two, three, four drawers before moving to the last one._

 _Her grandmother opened the last locked drawer with trepidation and found with some sort of guilty relief, the thing she was looking for. Her hand reached for the velvet box and held it gently in her hand._

 _She_ _stopped for a moment, her thumb caressed the material and she looked lovingly at it before clearing her throat, closing the drawer and walking back to her big comfortable chair._

 _Hermione's curious gaze tried to look at what was in her grandmother's hand, but it was obscured too well by her grandmother's long skirt. Hermione jumped from her chair as her grandmother patted her armrest, indicating that Hermione should take a seat there._

 _''_ _Mila,'' said Grandma Anna affectionately, the nickname for Hermione being said as a deeply held secret, ''in this box, is something that I love dearly. But as you are now old enough and almost a young woman, it is time to give it to the next female in line, time to give it to you. To give the love that resonates inside this ring, to you.''_

 _Hermione's eyes went wide with awe as her grandmother opened the velvet box. Nestled inside was a white-golden ring set with an opal in the middle. It was small and simplistic._

 _''_ _This ring,'' continued Grandma Anna, ''was given to me by your grandfather as a promise ring. Promising, that he would never lose hope in our love, in coming back alive to live out our days. Till we would be grey and old – much like I am now,'' she chuckled guiltily._

 _"He came back once or twice from the battlefields to visit before he was sent for again, to fight bravely. It was a month before I was to give birth to your mother when I got a telegram,'' Grandma Anna swallowed heavily, ''announcing his departure into the next realm.''_

 _Hermione looked on sadly as her Grandma shed tears for her lost love, ''He used to tell me, 'Anna, my love. If there is one thing on this earth that I want more than anything, is to make you my wife. So please, pray, please, for my arrival in your arms once more. Pray, that this will be the last time that I will depart from your loving heart. Pray, so that we can live our lives in peace, the way we want to lead our lives. Never forget me, and hope, Anna, keep hoping'. He always repeated those same words to me.''_

 _''_ _And when I started losing my hope, he would hug me and say, 'Anna, as soon as the war is over, I will find you, and then we will never have to part again. I love you, Anna, and when it's done, nothing will keep me away from you'.''_

 _''_ _He would always sing the same song over and over again. He would sing of the terrible things he saw and the hope that blossomed in him and his men. He would tell me secretly that he wanted to teach the song to his children and grandchildren to give them hope and to let them know to never give up - whatever the circumstances. And now, my dear-,'' she hesitated slightly._

 _Grandma Anna looked towards Hermione, ''And now, Mila, you will not only be the most special person on earth to wear our token of love but you will also learn the song that he taught me, and wanted to teach you. But alas, here I am teaching it alone,'' she grabbed Hermione's hands tightly in her own._

 _"But I know that Grandpa Nikolai will be watching his granddaughter, with pride, learning the song that gave him the courage to do what he had to do for our family. This song will be there, for you to always have hope if you are ever sad, to teach them to your friends, children and grandchildren. I am so proud, Mila, of you. It makes my old heart happy to see how much of a wonderful and beautiful young woman you are becoming.''_

 _Hermione gave a tearful smile filled with gratitude as her grandmother slipped the opal ring on her middle finger, ''The finger closest to your heart,'' w_ _hispered her grandmother. Hermione threw her arms around her Grandma and held her tight._

 _''_ _Thank you, I will take such good care of it and will always wear it proudly. I promise!''_

 _Grandma Anna nodded her head and burrowed her head further in Hermione's curls, ''I know, solnyshko, I know.''_

 _''_ _So,'' she said once more, wiping away the tears that managed to escape her eyes, ''let's teach you that song, shall we?''_

All of Hermione's emotions swam back to the surface. She opened her eyes and looked at Emily. Her eyes started watering and she breathed harshly through her nose. She blinked hard and focused on burrowing the burning sensation in her eyes far and deep into her soul. She opened her mouth tentatively and began to sing with a croaky voice.

 _''_ _Oh the ricks, the ricks,_

 _In the meadow lying,_

 _The eye cannot count you,_

 _For all its trying,_

She did not know what was happening at the other side of the castle, in a faraway tower. One that towered high in the air, higher than all the others; where a red flag blew proudly in the violent wind, the home of a group of children. The house of the lions. Where a creature, that is both proud, loyal, fierce and brave; where their chivalry, daring and nerve set them apart, protected their cubs until the last of their blood had spilt. In that house was a boy, who had gotten both the most terrifying and exhilarating news in his life.

 _Oh the ricks, the ricks,_

 _In the green morasses,_

 _What do you guard;_

 _You heaped heavy masses?_

James turned to Sirius and Remus, fear and hope intricately interwoven in his eyes, ''Is it true, is Rosie here?''

The thunder rolled dangerously close to the open windows of the tower. The wind blew the rain harshly into their bedroom and the curtains slammed viciously into the walls around the window. _Flash. Crack._ The lightning came even closer.

 _Pray, behold us, good sir,_

 _We were once bright flowers;_

 _But the sharp scythe falls,_

 _And the whole field cowers._

The boys, not knowing what Rosie looked like, shrugged their shoulders, ''James, I don't know what Rosie looks like, all I know is that there were two girls found on the border of Hogwarts all bloodied and mangled up.''

As Sirius finished his sentence, James turned white as the blood was sucked out of his face, making his features sharper than ever.

 _We were littered here,_

 _All mown down and shattered,_

 _On the meadowland,_

 _From each other scattered._

James scrabbled for his wand and held it tightly in his hand. He then ran towards his nightstand and threw the drawer open, creating a loud bang, slipping almost on the wet floor in his haste.

He scrambled and searched through papers, searching for one important thing and finally found it. His back towards the boys, he closed his hand into a tight fist, crumbling the sides of the paper as the sharp edge of the photograph cut into his hand slightly, stinging harshly.

He turned to look back at the boys. ''Is this her?'' He asked with a certain emotion in his voice, almost tight and trembling.

Sirius nodded tentatively as James gave a choked sob. He arrived at the door in two big strides, threw it open, banging it against the wall with the force he opened it with and ran from the room. The photograph with the happy picture flitted languidly to the floor, leaving itself in James' wake. The boys stood stunned for a second before following him out the door.

 _We have no defence,_

 _Evil guests come clawing–_

 _And upon our crests,_

 _Perch the black crow cawing._

 _On our heads, they perch,_

 _The starred heavens dimming,_

 _Hear the jackdaws flock,_

 _Their foul hutches trimming._

James ran through the corridors, not looking if he bumped into teachers or students and focussed only on the way to the Infirmary. Even as the portraits, and Sirius and Remus who were running behind him, shouted for him to slow down.

 _Oh, thou eagle, hail!_

 _Our far father, flying,_

 _Oh, thou fire-eyed, come,_

 _Our bleak foes defying._

 _Oh, thou eagle, hail!_

 _Lo, our groans grow stronger,_

 _Let the evil crows,_

 _Blacken us no longer._

James panted when he finally arrived at the thick oak doors of the Hospital Wing. His heart sped up as he heard Hermione's voice through the heavy set-up wards. It was impossible to hear her voice, he knew, but when his desperation to reach her spiked more, he shoved those thoughts to the side and focused on getting to her.

His heartbeat picked up again and his breathing grew frantic. He tried to open the door but it did not move an inch. He banged against it with his whole body, until desperation set in an all-time high and every atom in his body longed to be with Hermione once again.

 _Oh, avenge us swift, from the heavens swooping;_

 _Punish their vile pride,_

 _Till their wings fall drooping._

 _Till their feathers fly;_

 _Come a bolt of thunder,_

 _That the steppe's wild wind,_

 _Tear them all asunder.''_

Hermione could hear loud banging against the doors. She glanced at the shaking doors rapidly and focussed once more on Emily as her breathing grew more ragged. It grew harder and harder for Emily to breath as she tried sucking more air into her lungs.

''Em, what's wrong, Em?''

Emily answered frantically with her eyes, her hand clutching Hermione's tightly.

''Madam Pomfrey!" shrieked Hermione's terrified voice. ''Em, please, you will be okay, everything will be okay, just breath, please, breath.''

She wiped the tears gently away from Emily's face. ''MADAM POMFREY!''

Emily's eyes filled rapidly with tears and she shook her head harshly, ''I – I – Non – Je t'aime – It's okay. It's okay. I will be fine. I love you,'' Emily tried to get the sentences out of her mouth, ''You'll be fine. I believe in you.'' She grabbed Hermione's hand tighter than before and did not remove her tearful gaze from her sister's.

''No,'' burst Hermione, the word catching on a sob. She fell back on her knees, kneeling at her side and grabbing Emily's other hand, ''No, it's not okay, Em!''

Hermione wordless shook her head, blinking rapidly to dislodge the tears that were making Emily's face blurry.

Hermione's lips were pursed and her whole face pinched with grief, her mouth was dry, almost choking on her tong, trying unsuccessfully to hold in her pain. Every atom in her body almost doubled-over with the tearing that she felt inside her heart.

Madam Pomfrey ran in the room, looking only briefly at the pounding door before giving all her attention to the choking girl. The Medi-Witch's hands searched desperately for the source of the chocking and tried with all her might to clear Emily's airway. She started chanting and waving her wand, ''Anapneo.''

The spell should have dislodged what was causing Emily's chocking, and it did – but only for a second.

Pomfrey's eyes grew wide as Emily's wounds re-opened and her spilling red blood turned pitch black. Her mind raced against the clock, trying to heal Emily as fast as she could.

''Please, please, help her!'' Sounded Hermione's voice over Emily's choking sounds.

The Medi-Witch shoved different potions down Emily's throat, hoping that that would be the cure, but it was all futile.

''Her lungs are being filled with blood,'' stated Madam Pomfrey breathlessly, ''Why are they filling with blood?''

As the words left the Healer's mouth, Emily's eyes started crying up the black goo as well. Her tears were now a mix of normal salty ones and the tar-like substance.

The question seemed to be a rhetorical one but Hermione's delirious mind still answered her, ''I don't know, you are the Healer. Help her!''

''I'm trying, my dear.'' Madam Pomfrey sounded less convinced as the whole bed was slowly being covered in black, tar-coloured blood, dripping sluggishly down the sides.

Madam Pomfrey looked at Hermione and shook her head as Emily's breathing grew less and less, her heart-beat slowed down, indicating that Emily would not make it.

Emily finally understood what was going on around her and started pleading helplessly, ''I don't want to die, Hermione. You will be all alone. I don't want to die. Please – Please, I DON'T WANT TO GO!''

Hermione slapped a hand against her mouth as a sob violently tore through her. She grabbed Emily's face once more, not knowing when she released it in the first place.

Blue eyes met Emily's panicking grey's frantically, seeing as the light slowly left her sister's eyes, ''I love you, Je t'aime, everything will be okay now. Okay? Look at me, see? Everything will be alright. Shh, I got you – I got you, shh.''

The change in Emily's reasoning's caused Hermione more pained than she thought possible.

Hermione did not ask for her to come back. Not because she did not want to – Gods, how she wanted her to live – but because she knew in her heart that, that was impossible. If men would have that power in their hands, the world would have been filled with corpses walking once more in the daylight, amongst the living. It would have been a disaster.

No, Hermione could not, both physically and mentally, plead to her sister and the Gods.

Hermione stayed with Emily until her eyes were completely blank and her heartbeat stopped. Emily's hands fell from her body, hanging limply over the side of the bed, her head lulled towards her sister.

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut in pain while laying her forehead on Emily's cooling skin.

''My sister…! My sister!''

Hermione shuddered. A long time ago, another person cried something similar, clutching his own loved-one, on a quiet night, just as the Tri-Wizard Tournament ended. Hermione only belatedly realized that it was her own voice echoing in the Hospital Wing and not somebody else.

The storm kept raging outside as Hermione clutched Emily's body tightly against her own, shaking her head slightly, not wanting to believe that she was actually dead.

•

On the eve of the third of September, another family crumbled to the ground as they watched disbelievingly and with slow realizing agony as a second date, her death-date, was etched into their family tapestry; Marking the death of their oldest daughter, of their second child. Just the same as the first family did on the eleventh of May.

•

The rain pelted harder against the stained glass. The wind whipped mercilessly and created high-pitched sounds with its force. Every raindrop that beat itself against the glass was heard like a gunshot in the silent night. Each thunder, creating a deeper hole in Hermione's already broken heart. Each lightning, illuminating the tragic scene in front of her.

Hermione pursed her lips once more and broke away from the body, looking at the girl for the last time. Her lips descended to the girl's forehead, giving it a gentle kiss as her eyes squeezed shut and murmured something against her skin, ''Goodbye, my sister. I will find you, and then I'll join you, Gabrielle, Harry, Ron and everyone else when my time will come. But until then, Farewell.''

She closed the girl's lids and kissed them as well, then her cheeks, the corner of her mouth and the top of her head, smoothing the girl's hair back when she was done.

The banging against the door resumed itself. One, _bang_. Two, _bang_. Three, _bang_. With every thump, the wood seemed to be weakening more and more.

Hermione stood up from Emily's side, laying Emily's hands gently on her stomach, before grabbing her forgotten wand tightly in her hand and positioned herself in front of Emily's bed. Ready to protect herself.

She steeled herself, the lighting illuminating her face, creating shadows on her grief-stricken face. The wood exploded outwards toward her, yet made no move to protect herself from the onslaught of splinters.

The ward in front of their beds reverberated the wood back to the stone floor. As the magical pulse settled down, Hermione could see three young boys standing in the now broken and gaping doorway.

She looked closely at the boys. One had mussed-up blond hair and green eyes, was tall and lanky. He seemed quite innocent but as she looked closer at his face, she could see his animalistic side peeking through. The second boy all the way to the left had slightly curled, shoulder-length black hair. His grey eyes arguing fiercely with the boy on the left. They were standing slightly further away than the other boy.

The boy in the middle, however, ignored the commotion behind him altogether, staring straight into her eyes. His hair coated in dust, stood right up, not wanting to be tamed. His hazel eyes were faintly obscured by golden-rimmed glasses and his mouth hung slightly open as he took in her appearance.

She was covered in blood and black-goo, the lighting that flashed in the Infirmary, illuminating the room, made her look ethereal. Like a damned angel that had risen from the ground.

Her brain could not place the boys as she was still in some sort of shock. Her eyes slid to the corner of the room, where she saw the magic of the wards ripple slightly, letting her know that she was protected.

''Rosie?''

The name made her stumble a little as her head swivelled to the boy in the middle. The other two stopped their arguing immediately after the whispered question. Both Sirius and Remus's mouths opened at the state she was in. Her clothing was drenched and her eyes were red with tears. The hairs on her arms raised itself with the sudden tension in the room.

''Jamie?'' Answered Hermione disbelievingly. Her mind knew that he was at Hogwarts but she did not actually expect him to be there – here, in her presence.

Her wary eyes turned itself to the two boys flanking his side and back to him. James had just made a small move towards her when she shouted in panic, ''Don't,'' she finished somewhat softer, ''Don't come any closer.'' Her eyes shifting once more to the wards.

The ward seemed to be feeling her emotions and became a little less see-through, the power that emitted itself, undetected in the first place, seemed to be raised as well; trying to warn the intruders off.

''Rosie, what is happening?''

''Don't, please, don't come any closer.''

''Rosie, I don't understand–''

''She asked you to step aside, Mr Potter,'' came the chilling voice of Albus Dumbledore from behind them. ''Mr Lupin, Mr Black,'' He said, acknowledging both of the boys as well.

Madam Pomfrey finally ran out of her room and Hermione looked confused at the Matron. She hadn't noticed her disappearing.

''What has happened? Albus, what–''

''I want your silence, Poppy. Go back to your office.'' When she made no move to do so, he shouted in her face through the barrier, ''NOW!''

The matron looked shocked at the Headmaster's use of words and snapped outraged, ''I am not some child you command, Albus, I am your colleague!''

''Exactly! If you do not do as I say, you will suffer the consequences,'' he said, shaking with fury, ''I SAID NOW!''

The matron gave the Headmaster a dirty look and retreated to her office. He turned around and looked at James, Sirius and Remus.

''How did you get past my first ward?'' The boys remained silent, their image of the Headmaster shattered beyond belief. ''ANSWER ME!''

The boys jumped when the Headmaster raised his voice to new heights, ''You will answer my question. I command you!''

''You command NOTHING!'' Hermione shouted, diverting the attention to her, her voice laced with astonishment as tears of anger and despair shone in her eyes. ''You stop this NOW. They have done NOTHING wrong.''

''Shut your mouth, you foolish girl.''

''Let them go – leave them alone,'' Hermione countered.

Dumbledore laughed cruelly, ''Oh, really, and what are you going to do about it. The same as you have done for everyone? Are you going to sit here and wine? Are you going to help, like you did your poor friends in France, as you did for Emily? You will do absolutely nothing, I tell you,'' He said with a cruel smirk on his face, twisting the invisible knife even deeper in her shattered heart.

The boys looked on with wide eyes and opened mouths at their Headmaster in shock.

Hermione choked on her breath as he dared to utter those word, ''You dare, you actually dare – you take that back, you COWARD!'' Hermione screamed those words as her eyes were veiled with tears and she stood covered in Emily's blood, her hands drenched in red and black.

''You have no right to utter these shameful words. I will not be put down by your lies and manipulations. How can you say that have done nothing? How could you?! How can you say that I have done absolutely nothing, when it is you, that has done NOTHING? Absolutely nothing!''

Dumbledore took a step closer to her, the ward separating the two from each other, ''You are a dangerous and duplicitous little girl, Miss Delacour, it is all in your head. Your foolish notions won't do you any good.''

''Oh, spare me your lies and excuses. You BASTARD!''

''I will not let a fifteen-year-old talk to me like-''

''Do you fear death, Dumbledore? Do you fear the dark abyss that surrounds it – that surrounds and clings to this room? All your deeds laid bare…'' she asked him mockingly.

Dumbledore narrowed his eyes dangerously, ''I have nothing to confess, girl. It is your word against mine,''

''Then leave us alone!''

Dumbledore ignored her interruption, ''The word of a fifteen-year-old girl, young, naïve and impressionable; who has been in an attack, was on the run and being hunted down, who might have become delirious in the process – against me,''

He straightened up, brought his shoulders back and his smile grew a little deeper than before, ''Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Order of Merlin First class, Headmaster of the greatest school in Europe, the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. Who do you think they are going to believe?''

Before Hermione could say more, he grabbed James and Sirius by the collars of their shirts, motioned to Remus with his head, and dragged the boys up to his office. Dumbledore repaired the door and closed the new one with his magic, wandlessly and without uttering a word.

As the doors closed in her face, she turned around and walked back towards Emily's bed. She diverted her eyes quickly as burning grief started forming in the tips of her toes.

She searched for something, before spotting a glass filled with some water and threw it with all her might at the opposite wall. The shards exploded in a million pieces and the water splashed on the ground and the walls.

The little bundle that started in her toes, grew slightly towards her calves, her knees, her hips; Unfurling in her stomach and spreading towards her heart and her lungs. It grew faster and faster. Then it split itself into three branches. Two to her arms and one to her head.

Her eyes locked onto her reflection in a mirror, seeing herself properly for the first time. Her eyes flitted over her form before landing on her eyes. Her blue's looked with self-loathing and disappointment in the eyes of her reflection.

She could not acknowledge that the girl in the mirror was herself, her new self. The Hermione Granger in her wanted to crumble to the ground, wanted to scream and shout, wanted to tear herself apart with the grief and sorrow that resided deep in her heart. And she did just that.

Her magic surged forward and the mirror exploded in many different pieces. The grief that once blossomed in her toes arrived in the tips of her middle-fingers, bubbling ominously. The hot temperature of the horrible emotion became too much. She could not bear it.

A sound forced itself through her, ripping her throat apart and came out of her as a blood-curling scream. She doubled over with the power behind it and fell to her knees.

Her hand flew towards her heart, her nails cutting into the skin above the beating organ as if trying to claw the pain out of her. Her lungs felt like shrivelling up as the scream slowly and agonizingly left her lungs.

The last note of her cry came out of her throat and she almost slumped forward. The energy to keep her body upright had left her body. Thunder rumbled in the background as she broke into sobs.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any sort of profit from this hobby. All rights are reserved for J. K. Rowling (Movie reference: Never let me go)

 **Only Time Will Tell**

VII: _Strike the sky, but spare my heart._

By

 **RedLillies**

"It is a curious thing, the death of a loved one. We all know that our time in this world is limited, and that eventually all of us will end up underneath some sheet, never to wake up. And yet it is always a surprise when it happens to someone we know. It is like walking up the stairs to your bedroom in the dark, and thinking there is one more stair than there is. Your foot falls down, through the air, and there is a sickly moment of dark surprise as you try and readjust the way you thought of things."  
― **Lemony Snicket** , **Horseradish**

 **September 3** **rd** **, 1975**

The rain tore through the night yet Hermione had not left her spot from the ground. Her eyes were unseeing and her body vulnerable. Anything could come in and she would do nothing. She could not let her body do a thing.

She could only stare in front of her, detached from her surroundings, sobbing into the violent and stormy night.

The mountains of the Scottish Highlands rumbled with the thunder that still dared to rage outside of the castle walls.

Hermione barely took any notice.

Her unnerving stare blinked once and then twice, slowly coming to life. She was totally and utterly spent. Her rage and her grief had sucked everything out of her.

Hermione's mind tried to regain the strength that she prided herself on, and something ignited in her. Nothing small, just a tiny little spark, enough to get her moving from the ground.

Hermione wanted to pity herself, she wanted to spiral out of control, fall into the black depths of her depression but she couldn't let herself. She hadn't had the privilege in the past and would certainly not get it in the present.

But if-if Hermione dared to hope, dared to enter the realm of 'what if's', she would want to right so many wrongs. The innocent would all have survived, then she would not have to weep on the ground and mourn her loved ones. She would not have travelled back in time with the weight of Fate on her shoulders.

There never would have been a war, she would have her family, and that would have been enough.

The ones that were bestowed with her love did not know the gravity of it. Her love for them was, and is, as strong as death. Her passion was as fierce as the grey, with its flashes of fire – a raging flame, that many waters could not quench. Neither, could floods drown it out.

But the illusions of 'what if's' were quickly shattered by Fate, who in some way, had quite literally something else in mind. Hermione decided that she would cope with the loss in her own way. She would get through this all.

At least, that is what she wanted to believe when she first woke in the Hospital Wing as Hermione Granger, in the past.

She marched through the days, grieving only in private, anxiously awaiting her new responsibility. The Fate of her world was erased and in her hand lay a quill, delicately resting on her fingers, hovering slightly above the parchment, as the ink dripped in slow-motion off the tip onto the paper; awaiting its turn to let her imagination flow beyond restriction.

She did not feel any trepidation on the day of the ritual. She was positive that she could start a new, that her life would be better from now on.

But as her blood dripped to the ground, and the cup, and she felt her mind and body swirling with some sensation or another, dread rose up in her. All of a sudden, it did not feel right. Not anymore.

She became more sad and depressed as her new memories started flooding in. They were disappointments after disappointments. One after another. She wanted to cry and yell, right there and then, but she couldn't. And that was her weakness.

She could not, physically or mentally, stop herself from falling in the same rabbit-hole as before. She had to help them all. It was her job – her duty. But it was so trying, so taxing. She often felt that she was at a loss.

She was constantly reminded, left and right, of her losses. She did not get the time to catch her breath or come to terms with their deaths. She was thrust from one hell into the other.

Just because she had been through one war, did not mean that a second one would suddenly become easier. No, if anything, it became harder. Now, she knew what was waiting for her, which hurdles she would have to jump and avoid.

Even for all her preparation she did not, however, expect to be losing her new companions so early. Why did they have to die? Why were they not allowed to live?

Was it because of her, or was it the decision of the Universe? How could she have deserved to live, while they lay buried in the cold ground forever young?

All these thoughts ran through Hermione's mind as she approached Emily's bed.

Her fingers gently touched the girl's hands and pulled them away just as fast. They were unnaturally cold. It was unnerving.

Hermione fingered her wand in her pocket and deftly pulled it out. Her wand tip glowed slightly pinkish, creating an ethereal hue around the girls and dimming down again.

Shards of glass rose into the air, collected themselves in one big ball of glass and then rearranged themselves to their previous states, wobbling uncertainly when they were done. She did not look behind her as her magic did her work. Hermione's eyes were locked on the girl's face.

Her magic scrubbed the floor, making the bloodstains disappear, masking the scent of death with a flowery perfume. The sheets around Emily's body detangled from her form, rising slightly before neatly falling on her limbs.

The blood that was on both their bodies was syphoned by her magic, evaporating in front of them, disappearing into nothingness. With the way the girl lay, she looked to be only sleeping, waiting for her prince to kiss her awake.

An extra sheet came floating in, slowly, as not to startle Hermione and covered Emily's face, shutting her out from the world of the living.

As the sheet cut of Hermione's gaze, she collected herself and walked towards a bed, farthest from the dead girl and lay down. Her back to Emily and her gaze to the stone walls.

Her body still trembled with pain and sorrow, but it diminished with the seconds ticking by, her shock overriding any other sense.

She closed her eyes, hoping beyond vain, that she could finally get the rest that she so rightfully deserved.

Hermione's unconsciousness crept up unaware, trying to bereft her from a peaceful slumber. Her entity, that lingered around her like an essence, clung to her like a second skin and wanted to bury itself in the darkness that enveloped Hermione's mind, trying to convey her a message as it slipped through the back-door of her subconscious.

 _She scrunched up her eyebrows and focused on the small light in the dark. A light that called to her, hoping that she would approach._

 _Hermione looked behind her in confusion and saw nothing. She turned her head back to the light and slowly walked down the hallway. The light became more and more bright until she had to shield her eyes._

 _Eventually, the sharpness of the light fell away and she let her hand fall beside her body. She looked around in silent awe. Spinning, slowly, in a circle to take everything in._

 _She stood in a large hall or chamber. The room was made out of emerald stone coating everything within view: the walls, the ground, the benches._

 _She walked further into the room and saw that the light source was a burning pit. The fire within dancing merrily against the metal. Her eyes moved to the benches as she heard shuffling._

 _Her eyebrows drew up even more as she saw what was depicted. Statues of beautiful men and women sat stoically on the emerald stone, their skin the same colour, their faces unknown. They looked otherworldly, Hermione decided._

 _She walked beside the slightly raised benches, that created a podium, looking at their faces. Their eyes followed her every move, while they themselves remained unmoving. The statues reminded Hermione of some sort of age-old council._

 _All of a sudden, a voice came out of nowhere. Her eyes swiftly looked around for the source but could find none._

 _''_ _Hermione, my dear, dear, child. Oh, how I have grieved for you. I am so sorry that I could have done nothing to prevent these events from happening, it was all out of my hand.''_

 _''_ _Who are you? Show yourself…'' Her voice echoed, bouncing off the stone. Her body circled the chamber, turning and turning until she became dizzy. She swayed a little and focused on the words._

 _''_ _I'm sorry, my child. Please, I beg of you, remember my words. Please – Please, remember. Let them in. Oh, let them in. Let their love touch you too. You will benefit greatly.''_

 _''_ _Who are you talking about? I don't understand-'' Her voice became frustrated. The emerald chamber swirled away from her. Words echoing in her mind._

 _''_ _You_ _must discover the power of love, the redemptive power of love. And when you do that, you could make of this old world a new world. But love, love is the only way. There is power in love. Don't underestimate it. Don't even over sentimentalize it. There is power in love. We were made by a power of love. And our lives were meant – are meant to be lived in that love, that's why we are here. There is power in love; there is power in love when nothing else can heal. There is power in love to lift up and liberate when nothing else will. There is power in love to show us the way to live. For love is as strong as death."_

 _''_ _Love is not selfish, and self-centred. Love can be sacrificial. And in so doing, becomes redemptive. And that way of unselfish, sacrificial, redemptive love, changes lives – and it can change this world.''_

Her body became taught once more as she heard a creak on the other side of the room, ripping her from her unconsciousness. The person's footsteps could be heard echoing in the silent ward. Hermione's senses flared, begging her to turn around and look at the intruder. But she did not want to succumb to the voice that was begging in her mind and kept lying in her bed. She closed her eyes and feigned sleep.

The footsteps were closer now and she could feel the warmth emitting itself from the person. A warm hand suddenly rose towards her shoulder and she moved quickly. She shot from her bed with her wand in her hand and stood up. The wand light shone in the person's face.

''Merlin fucking Circe!'' Exclaimed a boy's voice. His hand quickly shielding his face.

''James? Fucking hell, don't scare me like that,'' Hermione exhaled, ''I almost had a heart attack!'' She lowered her wand but did not extinguish the light, still wanting to see the boy's face.

''I just wanted to come and check up on you,'' came James' reply as he rubbed his eyes, willing the spots to go away and blinked owlishly.

Hermione looked nervously at the Matron's office, hoping that she was fast asleep and would not come in unsuspectedly. James noticed that her body would not relax even with his presence and was slightly saddened. His worry for the girl did not diminish with this new found revelation.

Hermione's eyes were still darting to James' face and the Matron's office before looking only in James' eyes as his fingers gently enclosed around hers. They did not speak as he dragged her towards the bed she sat on previously.

But Hermione did not sit down as James intended for her to do. She looked him dead in the eyes as he awkwardly tried to drag down to the cot before standing up again. ''No, okay, we're not going to sit down. Totally not awkward,'' he mumbled under his breath.

Her eyesight became blurry as she watched him fumble. His face became unrecognizable, only his most prominent features stayed: his messy black hair and his glasses. Everything else that distinguished James from Harry was gone. The internal battle rose once again up in her mind, adding to the jumbled mess that was her brain.

Before she came to the Wizarding World, her mind was so meticulous and organized. And now, how she had changed. _War does that to people_ , her mind provided her.

She did not come as unscathed as she hoped to be – as people undauntedly promised her to be. They were all delusional if they thought that they would not have any remaining fear or reminders, no symptoms what-so-ever.

She could hardly sleep and felt guilty every time she ate. She jumped easily at every sound and could not concentrate as well as she did before. Hermione knew that she needed a tether to keep her sane or she would simply drown.

One side of her mind screamed that this was James, while the other furiously argued that it was Harry that stood before her. The two voices argued loud in her head, creating a high pitched sound as they mixed together until there was silence.

''Why did you do it?''

James stopped fumbling with his hands and stood a little straighter, looking directly at her. ''What,'' came his breathless reply.

''Why did you do it,'' the silence in her mind was overwhelming. The James-Harry hybrid making her more delirious, ''Where were you, huh?''

She gave James a little shove, but not enough to make him stumble, ''Where were you when I needed you most? Where were you when I was drowning from inside-out?"

James' mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.

''Why did you leave me, why did you ignore me - WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME?''

It looked as if Hermione was speaking directly to Harry. Him dying was affecting her brain in more ways than one, ''Tell me why, goddamn it!''

James reached towards her, his hands outstretched, ''Hermione, I'm– ''

Hermione slapped his hands away and took a couple steps back, shaking her head as she did.

''Hermione, I'm sorry I did not mean to – I...''

James's breath hitched as he felt the sharp pang in his heart. He had stopped writing her around her twelfth birthday. He had become so confused with his emotions, that he had stopped writing her letters, to her utter disappointment. He thought about her a lot, but could just not put his thoughts to words on paper. He felt like a git.

 _It will not happen again_ , he thought, _I will not leave her alone to fend for herself._

''I didn't mean to, Hermione, you have to believe me. I really didn't…''

Hermione drew her eyebrows together with confusion. Harry's voice seemed different. It was lower and had an entirely different range and tone. She focused more on his voice and she broke through the haze.

Her eyes widened and her mouth opened. She finally seemed to realize that it was James that stood before her, not Harry, ''I'm sorry, I'm sorry-I,'' she began hysterically.

James walked towards her in one big stride and grabbed her face with both hands, forcing her to look into his eyes. Not knowing that she was actually apologizing for the fact that she thought he was Harry, his son, and not her outbreak. He shook his head not breaking their connection, ''I'm here. Shh, everything will be okay.''

Her eyes were veiled with tears once they connected with James', ''I can't-,'' she breathed hopelessly.

She now understood, after having this delusion for all these years, that James and Harry, father and son, could in no way be the same. She did not have the right to believe two people to be the same. She couldn't do that to them. They were different people, with their own quirks and their own drawbacks. They each had their own own souls.

No, they could not and were not the same.

''I won't leave you, I promise,'' he answered her in reply, taking her in his arms as she began to sob, ''I swear.''

•

It was a while later before she could talk properly and stopped sobbing. Hermione detangled from James' embrace, ''I did not imagine being here, coming her this way,'' she gestured with her arm, ''I could just not imagine that-''

She stopped momentarily, "James, I-''

James waited patiently for her to speak, to gather her thoughts.

''I know it may be sinful to speak this way, but-,'' she sighed heavily again.

''What are you thinking about?'' He nudged her gently with his words, trying to get her to speak.

''I can't be here. I can't–'' It became harder for her to breath. James, realizing this, looked quickly at Emily's cot and back to her. He tried calming her, to get her to breathe properly.

He became desperate as he saw that it wasn't working. ''Let's go. I know where we can talk,'' he blurted out, blushing as he did not expect that sentence tumbling from his lips.

Hermione eyed the doors nervously. Only clad in summery clothes did they slip into the cold night. The wind blew bitingly against their skin. She could not believe that they had slipped underneath the stifling presence of the Headmaster, right through his fingers, if only for a moment.

''Come on, I know just the place,'' said James soothingly.

They walked to the left form the courtyard, away from the Black Lake, towards the borders of the Forbidden Forest. The wand in her hand was gripped painfully hard. ''Relax, Hermione, just a little further.''

She nodded in understanding before darting through the trees and into the woods. She watched her feet as they crunched beneath the fallen leaves.

She let her feet walk aimlessly in the woods, guided by James' steady steps and arriving at a small but beautiful lake protected completely by the trees surrounding the area.

Hermione stumbled forward as she looked around.

What were the odds that James would lead her to the place where Harry saved himself, Sirius and her from the Dementors with his Patronus? Believing himself to be his father? Fate seemed to be playing a dangerous game with her emotions and sanity.

The moon shone through the canopy of the dark forest, barely illuminating the ground. It seemed to not want to shine on anything else besides the glowing water of the lake, while its lapping waters called to her like a beacon.

She walked closer to the edge of the water and watched as it rippled.

''I found this spot in my third year. I thought that it would be a little easier if we would talk here…''

 _Away from the dead_ , her mind finished his sentence helpfully. Her eyes squeezed shut before opening again and focussing back on the water, ''Thank you,'' she whispered, to quiet for him to hear.

Her back was to James, making the sounds that she uttered with difficulty, fall on deaf ears as it was carried away by the light breeze. James looked worriedly at her defeated posture.

Hermione knew that she needed to let him in. _I have done it before_ , she thought, _but that was as Hermione Delacour, in another life_ , countered the other voice in her head. The third voice in her head reminded her of the words of her entity spoke prompting her gently to what needed to be done.

He stepped closer to her, his arms going around her stomach, holding her from behind. His head between the crook of her neck, her hair tickling his jaw. His nose grazed her neck softly, inhaling her scent.

As she felt him mould against her body, she suddenly had the strange thought that he was taller then she had remembered.

Granted, the last time they saw each other, they were thirteen. Hermione Delacour relished in the feelings he evoked in her and lay her head sideways on his own.

He moved his face from the crook of her neck, his chin still on her shoulder, and looked straight ahead, ''It is beautiful here.''

''Yeah, it is.'' She whispered with awe as she saw a flock of red birds flying in the clearing, chirping happily. The scene was much lighter and happier than the last time she was there.

She gave a little smile as a doe came shyly out of the woods while a stag, with giant antlers, stepped protectively beside her.

''Just – I,'' she sighed heavily. ''I could imagine clearly, standing here, that this is or will be the spot where everything I've lost since my childhood has washed up,'' she said after a while.

James' arms tightened just a little bit more around her. ''And I just want to tell myself, if that were true, and I waited long enough, that a tiny figure would appear on the horizon, across the clearing, and gradually get larger until I'd see him.''

James hummed against her shoulder looking at the hill across the water as if he himself could imagine the scene, ''He'd wave and maybe call. I don't let the fantasy get beyond that. I want to tell him that I understand him, to not let go, but I can't. I remind myself I was lucky to have spent any time with him at all. I see him standing high atop a hill staring silently at me. Just a little straighter than before.''

Hermione raised one hand towards his that lay gently on her stomach and gave them a squeeze, ''He would draw himself even straighter as a big group of people would march right from behind him, swarming him and marching down the slope. Like soldiers marching to the drums of war. Young and old, women and men. Then, it will occur to me, that our lives, of me and that tiny figure, which had been so intricately interwoven, could unravel with such speed. And if I'd known, maybe, I would have kept a tighter hold on him and not let unseen tides pull us apart.''

James uncrossed his grip on her shoulders and her hand fell from his. His hand making her turn around as his hands moved to her face, looking closely at every feature. She looked older than she was, in his opinion, and even more beautiful.

He had no words to say to her. Afraid, that his words would ruin such a beautiful moment. They looked closely at one another before their eyes locked. Blue met hazel. They stared for a long time before her face crumpled with grief once more.

James kissed the top of her head and held her tightly. One of his hand was buried deeply in her curls, holding her head tenderly.

Her face was buried in his neck and he could feel the tears sliding down his collarbones, being absorbed in his jumper. But he did not care – he wanted to hold her, to help her through this horrible heartbreak.

Hermione could not tell him what his silent support meant to her. He was the one that kept her together at this point in time. Without him, she would have broken down much worse than before. She did not expect herself to relish in the comfortable air that surrounded him.

Faintly, guilt started rising up in her.

Hermione untangled herself from James, ''We should go back, people will notice that you are missing.''

The sun began to make its dangerous ascendance into the sky, letting her rays touch their faces. The early morning wind nipping their skin.

''No, I won't leave you. They won't notice,'' he vehemently denied, not wanting to part from her.

''James,'' came her gentle admonishment, ''You have people in that castle that care more about you than you could ever imagine. They will certainly notice that you are not in your bed. Let's go. You can see me later if you want. I'm not going anywhere.''

James agreed resignedly and they made their track through the woods and into the castle.

The next two days were the hardest for Hermione. She had kindly asked the Deputy Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall, if she could bury Emily and Gabrielle on the border of the grounds, almost against the magical wards. The same place where she and Emily were found.

The place held, unsuspectedly, sentimental value for her. The emotion, much to her confusion, stemmed from nothing and appeared out of nowhere.

McGonagall took pity on Hermione and agreed with a heavy heart. She saw the shattered girl in front of her and asked her if she wanted anyone to support her during the ceremony. Hermione agreed, and up, went the total of attendance.

Hermione swallowed hard as she chose the date. They would be laid to rest in two days' time.

A grim atmosphere settled itself on Hogwarts, like mist clotting high atop the tops of the towers.

•

 **September 5** **th** **, 1975**

''And as we lower her into the ground, for her eternal rest, may we have a minute of silence for the dearly departed and raise our wands in respect,'' the vicar said as a small group of people stood around a closed black casket, small in size – smaller than it should have been. Their heads were bowed as they raised their wands, their arms straightened, and the tips were illuminated by the Lumos spell.

The ropes that held the casket slowly came undone, lowering it deep in the ground by magic. The people around her formed a line as her best friend was lowered into the ground. The thorns of the black rose pricked her hand as she held it tightly. Just because she knew this girl for a shorter period of time than Harry and Ron, did not mean that it hurt any less.

The line became smaller and smaller as each person threw a handful of dirt in the hole atop the casket. Her blood rushed through her ears, creating temporary deafness until it was Hermione's turn. She was last, having stood in the back of the line the whole time.

Her feet moved slowly over the wet soil towards the edge of the hole and watched as her rose descended into the ground, lying neatly on a pile of dirt. Her eyes watered as she realised that they were burying two people that day. Two caskets. One with someone inside of it and another empty.

But that did not mean that she had forgotten everyone else: Harry, the Weasleys, her Remus and Tonks and many more. No, they were metaphorically buried with the girls.

She raised her gaze towards the marble gravestones that stood at the top of the holes.

 **Emily Charlotte Culvért**

 _31 September 1959 – 3 September 1975_

 **Gabrielle Apollo Faye**

 _8 June 1960 – 11 May 1975_

She saw the vicar move out of the corner of her eye, sparing her no look as he talked to the people around her. She felt a presence come up to her, laying a hand on her shoulder. ''I will be there in a minute, James,'' she said without looking into his eyes. She felt him nod and he left her in peace.

''What a shame, isn't it. Having died so young?''

Hermione swallowed thickly, watching as the dirt beside the hole filled the graves, before burying her pride. ''I want to apologize,'' she said softly to the man beside her, ''my anger got the best of me – and my outrage.''

''You have nothing to be sorry for, Hermione. I understand that this,'' he paused a little, ''situation might be one too many, but please contain yourself next time.''

''There won't be a next time.'' She turned her head towards Dumbledore angrily. ''And, please, show some respect to the dead,'' her gaze flickering to his, ''I had nothing to do with their murders and you know it. Let me mourn in peace.''

Before Dumbledore sniffed, he made one last comment, ''We all try to do something good for the world, Miss Delacour. In all seriousness, our actions sometimes may bring greater sorrow than good; as we never intended it to be anything than victorious. I miscalculated my movements. Yet, in no way, am I sorry for how this all played out.''

He nodded once in affirmation and walked away, to where she did not know.

Her eyes followed his retreating figure before she kneeled in front of both graves, ''My dear sisters, rest in peace. I know that you will be watching over me. I hope you have found happiness wherever you are. I love you, always and forever.'' She kissed the tips of her fingers and traced their engraved names softly, ''Goodbye.''

She stood up quickly and wiped away the treacherous tears that allowed themselves to show while in public. She blinked fast and decided that she wanted to be alone for a while. Without saying to anyone where she was going, she walked from the scene.

Hermione was glad she had chosen the borders of Hogwarts as the burial. It was a nice place to be buried, she had to admit. It was peaceful there. They were protected by the trees, in the shade, the sun sometimes shining through the canopy. No student, even in her own time came close to the border, they would be left in peace there.

She let her feet lead her to the Black Lake. She looked down at the pebbled ground and picked up a stone in her right hand.

Hermione felt James' presence before he announced himself. He entwined their hands. It seemed to be the only way to reassure her nowadays.

James could not handle her being this distraught, he wanted to take the pain away oh so much. Unfortunately, he also knew that it would be a long time before Hermione could go on with her life.

The words that she uttered next made him lower his gaze from her profile to the lake in front of them. ''They did not deserve this faith, not my sisters, not my friends, not my schoolmates, no stranger, fighting for our freedom, deserves the ultimate punishment. They did not deserve to die. Who had the right to tell them to die, to slaughter their innocent blood! What have they ever done to them…''

James squeezed his eyes shut as her voice trembled. He longed to hold her, but knowing her, she would rather appear strong than weak, especially in public.

''I don't understand how they can justify it – in their hearts, in their souls, these terrible shortcuts, this slaughter! Who had raised them? Mothers or monsters? How can their souls be so tarnished as to kill so mercilessly? How, James, tell me, how?''

She threw the stone hard, watching it as it skipped a couple of times, before turning her body towards him, ''James, please, tell me I am not crazy. Tell me, that I am not imagining this. Are they that heartless?''

She averted her eyes once more, the scenery becoming blurry. ''I remember their shouts, Jamie, their pleas for help,'' her voice sounded small and childlike, nothing liked the viscous lioness she portrayed two days ago, ''The children were crying out for their mothers, for someone to save them. We heard it in the classrooms, in the gardens. We heard it as we escaped through the sewer system. We were covered to our necks in water filled with all kinds of things. The smell was atrocious, but we had to go on. We had no choice, it was a massacre.''

As the world spewed themselves out of her mouth, three different visions flashed across her eyes, like someone had switched the channels quickly after one another. The Battle of Hogwarts, the attack on Beauxbatons and the murders in Allée de Rose.

''We heard their chants, their hateful words. They condemned us all. There was no chance that any of us could have won. If you died, you were left with nothing. If you lived, you would get a target painted on your back until the day they murdered you themselves. They have condemned me…''

His heart broke at her confession, ''James, I have been condemned to live a life, looking behind my shoulder at every sound. To look for every exit before entering a building. I will never have peace. They will come for me and hunt me down.''

 _Hermione felt little droplets of water hit her face. With an incredulous look on her face, she turned towards Gabrielle. She let out a surprised sound, ''Gabrielle, you did not just do that!"_

 _They had been tending to the Abraxan horses that stood in the beautiful white stalls of Beauxbatons. It was a happy day for the three girls. It had taken so much energy to convince the Care of Magical Creatures to get permission to tend the horses without supervision._

 _Hermione, still looking at Gabrielle, did not notice the mischievous look in Emily's eyes. A second load of water was thrown at Hermione, ''EMILY!"_

 _The water droplets that Emily threw at Hermione ensured a water-fight. The girls were happily playing, their laughs echoed by the three horses in the stalls, until they suddenly heard shouts in the distance._

 _They stopped and looked confused past the open doors of the stall. The buckets dropped to the ground in realisation, rolling from one side to the other, spilling water as they went._

 _The girls ran outside. Their shoes squelching with the water within and their Muggle clothing soaked._

 _What greeted them made them freeze in shock. Hundreds of men in black cloaks were swarming the ground. The three girls saw as some of their classmates, that had decided to roam the grounds, were tortured and murdered._

 _The once lush, green, grass was now permanently stained red. Their life essence soaked up by the greedy ground._

 _They ducked to the ground as the stall behind them exploded with a great ball of flame, the warmth nipping their skin dangerously. The chunks of wood landing just little ways from them, starting their own mini-fires._

 _They stood up hurriedly and looked with wide eyes behind them as the hay outside caught fire, creating a second inferno of the beast-like fire. The sound of the air-raid alarm blared in the background._

 _Hermione's shout brought them all to the present, ''We have got to get to the school!''_

 _Their bodies turned at once to the school and they ran for their lives. Not only hoping to figure out what was happening but to find refuge as well._

 _They ducked and weaved through the spells that flew past their ears, past the students that pushed each other in pure, undulated fear._

 _They raced through the halls, pushing past students that ran the other way. Smoke began coming in through the windows into the mirrored hallways._

 _The golden adornments were being coated with soot, losing its shiny and rich quality forevermore._

 _The calming blue halls were adorned with red splatters as the light reflected on the mirrors. Shrieks and screams echoed in the background as their feet padded on the marble floor, almost slipping a couple of times in the red liquid._

 _They ran into the main hall towards the East wing before coming to a stop, seeing the malicious wizards making their way through the school._

 _They turned around and ran the other way to the West wing, hiding behind several pillars as the men ran by them, narrowly avoiding them._

 _Left and right lay the cruelly murdered children against the walls, like some sickening decoration._

 _They heard the black-cloaked men infiltrating the main hall as the girls ran towards the kitchens. Gabrielle grabbed Hermione's hand firmly in her own as they heard tortured screams, the roar of laughter from the men, sliding sickeningly down their spine._

 _Hermione slammed the kitchen doors open in their haste, as she heard their voices and boots coming closer and closer._

 _The girls looked in panic around the room while barricading the doors, looking for a way out._

 _Emily pushed the wooden tables the maids prepared dinner at, against the doors, with magic and might, sliding several bookcases filled with cookbooks against the door as well._

 _The smoke came wafting under the door and through the single small window, situated high on the wall, close to the stove. Emily groaned as she saw the too small window. They did not stand a chance going through that window._

 _The sound of boots came even closer._

 _''_ _Come out, Come out, wherever you are,'' came a sadistic voice from the other side of the door._

 _Hermione and the girls startled as they heard the man's voice. Gabrielle's hand slapped over her mouth as she let out a whimper._

 _The girls looked quickly at Hermione, begging her to do something. Hermione's head, meanwhile, swivelled from left to right, until remembering a secret passageway._

 _She locked eyes with the girls and gently lay a finger on her lips, indicating that they should be silent. The girls nodded swiftly._

 _In three big strides, Hermione was at the other side of the room, searching desperately for the latch that would open the passageway. She had heard about an escape route that was created somewhere in the thirteenth_ _century and hoped beyond might that the rumours were true._

 _Hermione's fingers finally found a nick as she squatted to the ground, her fingers trailing the grooves in the stone floors. It opened swiftly and the bang that resonated from the stone landing on the ground, creating a large opening, alerted the men outside._

 _''_ _WE FOUND SOMEONE. IN HERE – IN HERE, COME ON!''_

 _The sound of more boots followed quickly after the man's shout. Hermione looked down the gaping hole at a winding staircase and motioned the girls to come forward. Emily went down first, running quickly down the steps, followed by Gabrielle._

 _The door in the kitchen started pounding, shaking the bookcase, making some books fall down to the ground._

 _''_ _Hermione, come on,'' whispered Gabrielle furiously._

 _Hermione gulped and rand down the first couple of stairs before turning around looking at the gaping hole. ''I can't leave it like this,'' s_ _he muttered._

 _She raised her wand, ''Colloportus, Visus Custodiant.'' The thick, heavy stone, slid over the passage, locking it and hiding it from view – from any detection spell. It glided seamlessly shut and fell with a thud, the grout that bound the stone, repaired itself, making the floor look brand-new; As if nothing was out of place._

 _It was but not a moment too soon, as the door broke down and the tables and bookcases were sprawled to the ground._

 _The men ran into the kitchen looking wildly around, sweeping past stoves and ovens and looking under tables._ _The men straightened themselves. ''Are you shitting me, Goyle? Are you that fucking dumb and desperate to torture someone? There is no one here, you dolt!''_

 _''_ _No, no, no LeStrange. I'm sorry, honest,'' whimpered the first voice, his head shaking from left to right in heavy denial._

 _''_ _You think your apology means something to me? CRUCIO!''_

 _T_ _he man named Goyle fell to the ground, writhing and screaming in pain. His screams vibrating in the stone walls of the passageways, carrying them deep into the ground._

 _The girls gritted their teeth as they heard the man's screams. But a moment later, the sound of rushing water distracted them._

 _''_ _The sewer,'' whispered Hermione to herself._

 _Gabrielle, who ran at the front, came to an abrupt stop. The underground tunnel reeked of every sort of substance. The girls gagged because of the smell and covered their faces with their arms. The path that ran next to the water was narrow and slippery._

 _'_ _'_ _We can't walk here, Hermione, it is too slippery, it is too narrow to pass.'' Emily looked at the filthy water with panic._

 _'_ _'_ _What are we going to do,'' whimpered Gabrielle, the youngest of the three. ''Merde!''_

 _Hermione looked over the side of the staircase into the sewer-system and waved her wand. A number floated right in front of their faces, ''It is only one and some meters,'' she whispered to herself, ''We can walk through the water, it isn't that deep. We can make it. It shouldn't be too far but we have to keep to the side.''_

 _Gabrielle and Emily looked disgusted at the thought of jumping and swimming in the water. God knows what swam in there._

 _The water seemed even more odd than usual, redder than usual. The three girls winced at the thought._

 _''_ _We have to hurry.'' Hermione encouraged._

 _She went first, her hands raised as she jumped into the water, almost retching as the water splashed in her face. With nothing covering her face, she breathed through her mouth, trying to not breathe in the foul air._ _Emily whimpered but jumped in after Hermione, Gabrielle not far behind._

 _'_ _'_ _Do you even know where we are going?'' Gabrielle asked Hermione._ _It seemed that Hermione had gotten the unspoken title of the decision maker in this situation._

 _Hermione nodded her head, ''I have a distinct feeling of where we need to go.''_

 _Hermione had studied the maps of Beauxbatons in her free time, besides going to classes, hanging out with friends and reading 'Beauxbatons: A History', that is._ _She did not know why she did it, but something in her screamed that it needed to be done. Oh, how grateful she was that she listened to the voice inside her head._

 _They walked what felt like a long time through the murky waters, who-knows-what floating past them until they came to a cross-road. They could go either left or right._

 _''_ _What are we going to do," sounded Gabrielle out loud, her voice laden with frustration._

 _''_ _Come on.'' Hermione motioned to her left._

 _They swam to the left tunnel. Only one torch shone, barely illuminating the pitch-black tunnel. It was a while, before Hermione, who was in front, came to an abrupt stop as she bumped into something._

 _Her hands patted desperately against the brick, ''No, no, no – NO!''_

 _Her voice sounded frantic. Her wet hands glided through her hair. She looked up at the ceiling in frustration and gave a shocked laugh. There, in the ceiling, was a folded staircase that led to a closed door; A door to the outside world._

 _''_ _ARE WE GOING TO CHECK IN HERE, COMMANDER?''_

 _The girls froze in panic as they heard the manly voice speak, his voice echoing in the tunnels. Hermione frantically waved her wand and silenced the stairs that moved down. She motioned for Gabrielle to go first._

 _Gabrielle came to the end of the stairs and tried to push open the heavy trap-door. It fell open with a thump in the soggy grass. The girls shielded their eyes as the bright sunlight suddenly streamed in._

 _''_ _Hurry up, Gabrielle,'' came Emily's hushed voice._

 _The voices became louder as they neared._ _Gabrielle climbed out and motioned for Emily to go next._

 _Gabrielle's head looked left and right, wondering where they were._

 _She recognized it somewhat. They were at the edge of the gardens of the school, outside of the magical wards. From her position, she could see as the cloaked men looked at the deceased and catalogued their faces._

 _''_ _Oef.'' She heard from her left and looked up, Emily had finally climbed out, Hermione not far behind._

 _As Hermione climbed the last steps, they heard the unmistakable voice of the man they heard before._

 _''_ _I FOUND SOMEONE!''_

 _''_ _YOU BETTER BET YOUR ARSE, GOYLE, THAT YOUR DUMBASS DID NOT MAKE A MISTAKE AGAIN!''_

 _The girls motioned with great panic for Hermione to hurry up and get the hell away from this place. Hermione pace sped up and her breath grew ragged._

 _LeStrange looked up and saw Hermione shoe disappearing out of the hole as she climbed out of the sewer,_ _''_ _GET THEM, YOU DUNDERHEADS. DON'T JUST STAND THERE.''_

 _The girls looked up as a red light passed by their ears. They heard the unmistakable voices of men climbing up the stairs, their breaths coming in short puffs._

 _The girls jumped away from the light and ran in the same direction, away from the school, into the hills covered by forest that surrounded the school._ _Their legs ached as they ran and ran, the men slowly catching up on them._

 _The pixies that floated in the mystic air of the forest cheered them on, ''_ _Allez! Vous pouvez le faire, courir!''_

 _''_ _They are going to catch up, Hermione!'' Emily shouted desperately._

 _The scream of the Commander followed their running footsteps, ''_ _CATCH THEM!''_

 _Lethal spells flew past their ears, exploding on the ground or disappearing into nothingness._

 _''_ _Grab onto my hands,'' shouted Hermione, suddenly. An idea had formed itself in her mind. But it actually working? Well..._

 _Emily and Gabrielle grabbed her upper arms and she waved her wand._

 _'_ _Destination, Determination and Deliberation', sounded in Hermione's head._

 _Their bodies swirled like a vortex in the air, collecting themselves, becoming one big blob of_ _colour, as their bodies were squeezed into, what felt like a tube, before disappearing with a loud crack._

 _They heard a frustrated growl as the girls were whisked from the sight, ''CRUCIO!''_

 _The girls slammed into the ground, panting heavily. The rain that pelted down, washing away the grime and the guilt. Hermione was on all-fours before turning her head and throwing up on the moss-covered ground._

 _She wiped her mouth with her sleeve and looked at the girls that were sprawled on the ground._

 _Emily started laughing deliriously, ''I can't believe you just did that, Hermione, you Apparated!''_

 _Hermione shook her head in honest disbelief at Emily's words and gave a smile of her own. They had survived. They were safe._


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any sort of profit from this hobby. All rights are reserved for J. K. Rowling

 **Only Time Will Tell**

VIII: _Only love can hurt like this; It must have been a deathly wish._

By

 **RedLillies**

"I have accepted fear as part of life – specifically the fear of change. I have gone ahead despite the pounding in the heart that says: turn back..." ― **Erica Jong**

 **September 5** **th** **, 1975**

Night had fallen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and Hermione was once again found in the Headmaster's Office sitting across the old man. Dumbledore stroked his beard as he looked at her.

''You know, you can't continue living here like this,'' he said gravely. Her eyebrows drew up together but kept silent.

He assessed her thoroughly, ''No, you cannot. From this day forward you will be a student at Hogwarts. You cannot go back to Beauxbatons as it is destroyed, Durmstrang does not accept foreigners and Koldovstoretz is out of the question. By tomorrow, you will be enrolled as a fifth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.''

Hermione gave him a sweet deceiving smile, ''As you wish.''

Dumbledore nodded dubiously, ''We shall sort you tomorrow at breakfast. Be prepared. You may go, Miss Delacour.''

Hermione stood up from her chair and left the room, not wanting to argue with the man after such a taxing day, and left for the Infirmary. This time, she did not have to hide in the shadows and she walked freely and serenely, admiring the view as she went.

•

She had woken up early in the morning, too early, she found out, as the sun hadn't even risen yet. She had slept poorly. She had woken up every two hours, expecting to take over patrol and sit in front of the tent.

And every time she would come by, she would slump back on her bed and mutter, ''Stupid, stupid, girl,'' squeezing her eyes shut and rubbing the palms of her hands over them.

Hermione lifted her head from her pillow as a house elf flashed right in front of her and away again. The elf did not stay any longer than it needed to. The stool that stood beside her bed table, once empty, was now occupied by a dress and a cloak, both in black. They looked bare like, without any markings or decorations.

She stood up resignedly and gave little puffs of irritation as she put on the black dress and cloak. Her hair, with the aid of magic, braided the top part of her it and pulled it back. The rest of her golden curls falling over the clasp of her closed cloak. She looked like royalty in her garb and her stance.

Her back was straight as a rod as she cautiously walked towards the Great Hall, proud and tall like a widowed Queen. She had taken so long getting dressed and getting carried away in her day-dreams, that all the students were already sitting at the tables, talking and laughing with their fellow students and friends.

Yellow, green, blue and red overpowered her vision as she entered the Hall. The blinding colours starling her for a mere second. Gone were the blacks and the greys she was used to, bright colours now infiltrated her eyes' spectrum. The last time she was here, only black and dried-up blood outlived the once rich colours.

She looked up to the ceiling and saw the nostalgic view. Hundreds of candles levitated themselves, giving a lovely glow to the room as a small sun peeked through the clouds.

She always did find it so wonderfully amazing how the ceiling could change according to the weather outside.

So occupied in her perusing, she did not notice, that one face after the other turned to her as she walked further into the room.

The loud noise suddenly died down. She frowned, while still looking at the decorations, before snapping herself from her daydream as she heard a loud cough echoing in the hall.

Dumbledore stood up from his golden throne and lay his napkin next to his plate, ''Good morning, Miss Delacour.''

''Good morning.'' She answered hoarsely as she felt all their eyes on her. She looked at the Gryffindor table searching for a familiar face.

A wave of reassurance came over her as she spotted James' surprised, but joyful expression.

She did not turn her gaze away from James even as the Headmaster began to speak to the students, ''Miss Delacour, here, will be joining our magnificent school from now on. She will be sorted in but a moment. I hope you will all wish her a great start. She has come from far away, from Beauxbatons.''

The students turned all at once to each other and began to whisper. ''Well, I will not hold us in suspense any longer.''

Her gaze turned towards Dumbledore as he beaconed her with his hand, ''Come, Come, Miss Delacour.''

Even though it was her birth name in this lifetime, it still felt strange when people addressed her like that.

She steeled herself and painted her face with a pleasing smile, fooling all but the Headmaster and James. Dumbledore waved his hand, signalling for McGonagall to grab the stool and the Sorting Hat.

''The sorting might be a little different than to what you are used to, Miss Delacour,'' Dumbledore said mockingly as his warm breath grazed her ear, standing close enough for him to do so and shivered with uneasiness as he moved away from her.

The painted smile did not leave her face as McGonagall drew nearer, the stool floating in front of her and the Sorting Hat held in her hand. The small legs of the stool collided gently and soundlessly with the stone floor.

Hermione looked with apprehension at the seat when she felt a hand lay on her shoulder and steer her to it. She clasped her hands over each other, holding them tightly. And every time she moved her hand, the ring would catch and reflect the light in a way that made the stone glow.

The grimace she formed in her mind, accompanied by the feeling of time slowing down, made her feel like it was more of an execution than a sorting.

With horrifying turmoil did she sit on the stool and looked straight in front of her. She focussed on the ornate wooden doors of the Great Hall, and nothing and no one else, trying with all her might to net let her terror show.

She heard the Hat's voice in her mind before she saw the brim fall over her eyes, tumbling into darkness, ''Well, well, Miss Delacour. We meet again.''

She held her breath as the voice echoed in her mind. She felt so small sitting here once more. The smell, the sounds, the atmosphere - it was all the same as it was before. It made her feel like she never left, like the war never happened. She felt like herself again, like the eleven-year-old Hermione Granger.

''Miss Granger and Miss Delacour, you are much one and the same. Do not worry, your split lives will not tear you apart. On the contrary, they will guide you. Turn your wounds into wisdom and all will be well, my girl.''

 _What does that even mean_ , Hermione wanted to ask but did not get a chance to.

''Cunning, yes, that you are, ambitious but BRAVE! Oh, my girl, so brave. Reckless as well. You will do both good in Slytherin as in Gryffindor.'' The Sorting Hat took its time sorting her, only making small noises as he thought of his decision, ''Good luck, child.''

She could not respond to the Hat's well wishes before it announced his decision in a loud voice, ''GRYFFINDOR!''

Her breath hitched as the colour of her house exploded before her. Her entire vision was coated with red. She looked down at the tingling sensation on her cloak and saw that it too, was slowing being covered in red detailing.

The Hat already from her head, she shot up from the chair and walked stiffly to the Gryffindor table, following James' frantic waving, his arm high in the air.

She sat down in front of the Marauders and numbly welcomed their overexcited welcome and their eagerness for her attention, introducing her to the people sitting around her. She sent discreet glances to James, pleading for him to make them stop. He shook his head with regret, telling her without words, that she had to sit this one out. It was inevitable.

She found it slightly odd that the Peter, Remus and Sirius did not question her origins or her relation to James. She guessed that he had told them all about her. She felt relieved at that revelation, she did not want to tell them herself. She felt like she could not have a syllable leave her closed lips or she might throw up.

Her confidence waned. She had assumed that she would be strong enough to sit with the dead, to sit with the parents of her classmates, to sit with the deceased members of the first Order.

Remus sneezed and she uttered a small 'Bless you', even James and Peter did, but Sirius kept silent. She saw as Remus looked slightly annoyed at Sirius who sat next to Hermione.

''You're not even going to say 'bless you'?'' He asked Sirius.

''I'm sitting here with you,'' Sirius replied confused, ''Clearly, you have been blessed.''

Sirius looked quite smug as he saw Remus' shocked face. She heard the loud guffaws of the Marauders but did not chime in herself. The only proof that she had listened was the small smile that threatened to overtake her face.

Alas, the distraction did not last long. She soon felt herself drift off and could not focus anymore on the sounds and the conversations going on around her.

The fiddling started. She could not leave the cutlery next to her plate alone. Her fingers twirled the knife and fork around her hand, she touched the plate and continuously toyed with her empty goblet. She did not dare interrupt Sirius' and Remus' introductions and welcomes.

A girl not far away from the table looked closely at the Hermione, assessing her pensively.

Hermione felt eyes burn in the side of her head. She furrowed her brows and ignored the fiery gaze. The prickling feeling intensified, the longer the stare continued and she ignored it.

Eventually, Hermione could not contain herself any longer and she turned towards the burning scrutiny. Her eyes connected with that of a redhead.

Hermione's breath hitched. She could not let herself believe that this was the person she thought it was. There were more redheads in this world than the one Hermione wanted to assume. She refused herself to believe that this was her.

Sirius, who sat beside her, saw at whom she was staring. He nudged her with his shoulder and she blinked quickly, looking at once at her empty plate.

His head came close to her ear and whispered, ''The girl you were looking over there, that's Lily Evans, that is. Nasty, little girl. Thinks way too high of herself,'' he sounded more and more agitated, ''She thinks that anyone not academically challenging enough is not worth her time. Worse of all, she has it out for us.''

He chose not to say that it was the worst for James and kept his explanation at that. He moved away from her ear and focussed on something James had said to gain his attention.

She felt her confidence weaken. Of all the people she would meet, she did not think that the young Lily Evans would give her the hardest blow of all. Maybe it was because she shared Harry's green eyes or maybe it was of the distrustful look that Lily kept throwing her.

Eventually, she felt the redhead's eyes looking away, leaving the feeling of burnt skin behind.

She saw that her bowl was suddenly filled with porridge and a little bit of cinnamon. Hermione looked up and saw James' worried face. Sirius, Remus and Peter purposely kept out of it and looked away.

''Please, Hermione, eat something.''

She wanted to say that she could not, that the lump in that had formed itself, was taking up all the space in her throat. She wanted to say that she wanted to leave, that she could not eat in fear of throwing up, but something stopped her in her tracks. James' pleading gaze made her succumb to all. Why? How could he have the power to do so?

She tried pushing all her dark thoughts out of the way and ate as much as she could without throwing up. She ate only half but that was more than enough in her books. Hermione nursed her goblet of water and waited patiently for the boys to finish their breakfast.

''Are you coming?'' James asked as the boys stood up to go to their dorm.

She looked up and wordlessly nodded. Hermione stood from the bench and walked along the long table to the end.

James offered her his arm as they neared the big doors of the Great Hall and she put her hand in the crook of his arm, walking out of the hall. All the while, ignoring the burning stares that the students' eyes left on their backs.

Yet, she could not help but not hear one girl's whispering in particular, "Mary, don't say shit like that. Only the victims and survivors can truly comprehend the awfulness of that time and place. The rest of us live as if on the other side of the fence, staring through from our own comfortable place, trying in our own clumsy ways to make sense of it all."

She wanted to turn around and shout, 'Yes! Yes! Finally, someone who is not some gossiper but is actually sensible!'

But of course, she did no such thing, and strolled further, hand-in-hand with James.

The walk to the Gryffindor common room was as uncomfortable for her as it was _not_ for Sirius. She was half-listening to him happily prattle on as she was lost in her perusing of the hallways.

The magic in this day and age seemed to thrive on a level that she had never experienced in her time. And although the outward of the hallways would not change, the air pulsed of magic that was once forever lost in her world.

Cut off from her musings she heard James' gentle inquiry, ''Why did you not tell me that you were being sorted today?''

''I did not have much choice, James,'' she whispered back softly, ''I only heard yesterday evening. I did not have the time to process and to tell you, sorry.''

''Well, for one, I'm glad you're here.''

She gave him a lovely little smile and braved on as the entrance of the Gryffindor common room finally came into view.

It was the same portrait that guarded the door as in her time. The Fat Lady sat in her chair gossiping with the portrait beside her, giggling like small school-girls. _Somethings will never change._

Peter stumbled a little forward as he loudly proclaimed the password. Sirius scowled at him and muttered under his breath, his voice falling on deaf ears, ''Yeesh, could you have said it any louder so that the Slytherins might hear?"

Hermione was shocked at Sirius' behaviour towards his friend. She pondered the thought of Peter not betraying the Potters...

The first thing she saw as she stepped through the portrait hole was red. The smells and sounds of the place suffocated her. The long thin windows let the early rays flitter through their glass and reflected the red stained light on every surface.

The boys walked around the place, gathering their books and stuffing it in their bags, crinkling their homework as they went. Hermione could only look befuddled at the graceful way they moved together. As if in-sync. They moved around one another like dancers, lithe, while not looking at each other.

James, however, did not leave her place beside her. His book bag already held tightly with his other hand on his shoulder. And Hermione, well, Hermione did not have to gather her books and her homework for another week. The Headmaster had so 'graciously' exempted her from classes for that exact period of time to let her mourn in peace.

''Are you going to be okay, Hermione, being here today – all alone?''

She felt touched that he had thought of her, ''I can only hope that I will,'' she trailed off, ''I – ehm – shall see what I will do to keep myself occupied.''

''Do you want to take your clothes off and go lay down in my bed?'' James began to stammer and turned red, looking quickly at his mates and back to her, ''No, no, I didn't mean it like that…''

Hermione gave a little laugh, ''It's okay, James. I understand what you mean. Thank you. I don't quite feel like meeting my new dorm-mates,'' she hesitated a little before asking the question that lay on the tip of her tong, ''Are the boys going to mind?''

''What? You – oh, ehmm, no, they aren't.'' James reminded himself that he should talk with the boys later about what the fuck was going on with this girl, his best friend, and her entire, well, to put it lightly, situation.

James gave an embarrassed nod as his blush died down. He gulped and looked at his wrist-watch, ''Are you guys ready to leave?''

Sirius and Peter just stuffed the last thing in their bags while Remus still ran through the room, ''Almost done,'' he called out, ''And… Ready!''

Remus smiled widely and opened the portrait hole. ''Good luck, Hermione,'' shouted the boys as they left.

James hesitated a little, ''I'm sorry that I have to go. I wish I could stay here with you.''

''I believe you, Jamie,'' she gave him a smile, ''I know you will return,'' she answered him as she heard Remus shout his name in the distance. ''Go on," she motioned with her head and a reassuring smile, "I'll be there when you come back.''

Her eyes shined with mirth as she purposefully looked at the portrait hole, reminding him that he had a class to attend.

James nodded sadly and looked at the open portrait as he heard his name being called irritably again. He looked at her and gave her a kiss on the crown of her head, striding out of the common room yelling exasperated as he went, ''I'm coming, Merlin, Remus, don't shout!''

The portrait closed and she turned around, looking helplessly at the deserted common room. She heaved a great sigh and walked towards the boys' staircase, hesitating slightly.

She knew no one was up there, classes were going on after all but still waited before setting foot on the stone staircase. As she walked up the winding staircase, her fingertips flittered gently against the railing, almost caressing it.

She made her way up to the fifth year dorm and slowly opened the door. The sight that greeted her made her laugh a little. _Boys will be boys_ , she thought.

The room was messy, the unmade beds lay open and clothes lay scattered around the room. Posters of 'Puddlemere United', James' favourite Quidditch team, and apparently posters of boys' own favourite teams as well, hang on the walls.

She walked carefully around the strewn clothes to what she presumed to be James' bed. She looked at the nightstand and saw a picture. She knew that she had no right to look but as she looked closer, she saw the face of a young Hermione Delacour with James smiling by her side.

Both were dressed pristinely but comfortably. She presumed that this picture was taken when James was going to his first year at Hogwarts as he held his acceptance letter proudly in his hand.

The photo seemed to be expressing so much hope compared to the thick tension that was slowing getting hotter and hotter, preparing itself to be boiled.

Hermione looked away quickly to James' bed. She realised that Harry had unwilling chosen the same bed as his father had. Closest to the window but farthest away from the door and the bathroom.

She kicked off her shoes and her cloak. Pulling off her dress, she put on a white t-shirt of James' that lay in his dresser. Leaving her bare-footed and dressed in James' white shirt that ended mid-thigh. She knew that he would not mind, he had expressed as such.

She lay down on his bed and pulled the covers over her. The chilly wind slipped through the crack of the window making her shiver. She drew up her knees and turned her head in his pillow. She inhaled his scent and quickly stopped.

Her eyes widened. What was she doing? It was irreversibly wrong.

She turned her head a guiltily, letting it rest on his pillow. Hermione gripped the covers tightly in her hand as she looked out the window and let her mind's imagination wander to places yet to be discovered.

•

Hermione lay in his bed a long time. She lay there past lunch and past dinner, not eating the food that James had brought up with him from the kitchens or the Great Hall.

She just lay there looking silently out of the window lost in her own world like a corpse. She indicated that she was alive only by her gentle breathing and her blinking.

James looked regretfully at Hermione. He _knew_ that he should not have left her alone. Why did he not listen to the reasoning in his head? Why did he believe her little white lie?

He knew she did not want to burden him, did not want to see her this way. But it hurt him either way, knowing that she lay silently in his bed like this.

Two days passed where she did not move from his bed. Only moving to drink water or go to the bathroom. At night the only acknowledgement she made was to gesture for James to lay beside her. Apologizing in a croaky voice that she was sorry for stealing his bed, ''I'm scared, Jamie, I'm so scared to sleep alone.''

He would lay down beside her, his arm around her and fall asleep. She herself slept no longer than two to four hours per night. Retreating the rest of the night in her own bubble losing all semblance of time and reality.

The boys did not mind Hermione sleeping in their dorm, James having explained the entire situation without compromising her or giving too much information, even denying their discomfort when James asked them.

It was late at night when Hermione finally spoke to James, whispering softly, ''I lay here, James, and I am thinking about me being so utterly stupid and insensitive… I want to be someone who can survive any situation with poise and instinct, but I am surrounded by people that try to take my power, my will-power away from me,'' She turned towards him in his bed, careful not to fall or lay atop of him, ''except you, of course.'' She gave him a small smile.

His gaze met her straight-on, ''Truly, James, I find myself utterly repugnant.''

He gave her all his devoted attention, ''I remember people telling me that Mary Queen of Scotts wore black, embroidered with silver and gold thread, for her wedding gown. And I think – that is how it is to be a powerful figure in a time of despair. That is how it is to be a Queen.''

His hand searched for hers under the cover and grabbed it gently, ''That is how I want to be, Jamie. That is _who_ I want to be. Underneath my black brocade I want to wear a petticoat of scarlet, the colour of Gryffindor, as she always did, that would show in glorious colours as I'd walk around,''

''And do you want to know, what is so magnificent about the colour red?'' She asked him with a bit of awe in her voice.

''It is the colour of defiance. Red is the colour of love, red is the colour of life, and so it will be my colour. I want it to be the colour of hope.''

''I want to be able to wear my black embroidered gown and my red petticoat till the day that I die. That is how I want to be and be known. Defiant, and at the same time, loving and caring. That is who I aspire to be. I want to be Mary Queen of Scots,''

She clasped her hands around his own looking sorrowful, ''I have just lain here and done nothing but waste away, James. And I am sorry. I'm sorry for ignoring your attempts at comfort and just simply ignoring _you_. I'm sorry for not living the way, my sisters or my parents would have wanted to. I'm sorry for disappointing you.''

She continued in one big breath before James could say anything, ''And I promise you now, James, I will do right by you, my sisters and my parents. I promise.''

She grabbed James in a powerful hug and he embraced her with more loving than ever. He stroked her hair as her head lay in the crook of his neck. His nose was in her hair as he inhaled with relief, the familiar scent that was pure Hermione.

''And who do you want me to be,'' asked James jokingly, murmuring the words into her locks, ''Francis, Henry or even Lord Darnley?''

''None of them at all,'' she replied against his chest. Her warm breath grazed his naked chest and he shivered slightly, trying with all his might to not let her show how she affected him. ''I want you to be James – I want you to be yourself.''

She finally let herself succumb to sleep and woke the next night, having slept for the first time in more than eight hours. She felt starved and thirsty but she had other things to do first.

She stood up and walked to the bureau that stood on the other side of James' bed. She lit a candle and looked around her at the surrounding beds, hoping that none of the boys had woken up by the small light. She exhaled a tiny sigh of relief and sat on the creaking chair.

Her eyes flitted across the tiny table and saw some parchment and a quill and ink laying in one of the drawers in his desk. She grabbed the parchment and lay it in front of her. she uncapped the ink and let the tip of the quill carefully touch the ink that was inside of it. Letting it soak up not too much, and not too little.

She straightened her back and raised her hand slightly above the parchment and began to write with swirling and curling letters. She knew that the Mistress of Magic of France had forbidden any survivors of the attack to write to their parents or anyone else in fear of them getting killed, but Hermione did not dare to wait any longer to contact her parents.

Even if they weren't her own in the first place, they were hers now and she had a duty to them. After all, all is fair in love and war.

And sometimes, when all is going wrong, you have to step back and evaluate. Sometimes you have to overstep your own boundaries, or those set up by others, in order to achieve your end goal.

If the men that attacked the school that night ever tried to assassinate her, then she would train. She would prepare the best she could as not to fail herself or Harry ever again. She could not let herself see this new life as a mission, as a game. Here and now, this was her life, the lives of many people around her – their fates.

 _Don't we owe it to the people we love, to stand up for them?_

She had to do this. She had to get herself out of this rut that she had fallen in. Her parents did not deserve the stress of wondering whether their child was alive or not. They did not deserve sitting around the candlelight, anxiously awaiting any news on their daughter.

She hoped dearly that they had found the perpetrators. But she knew no more than she did in May. She had looked in the Daily Profit. Actually, in all the Daily Profits since the attack yet could find not one reference to any arrests, only a detailed description of what the English press thought about what was actually happening in France.

She wondered silently if Dumbledore ever did alert her parents, she had waited to see his moves. And as she predicted, he had done absolutely nothing. He never had contacted her parents or those of Emily.

She would know if they did. She would have seen her parents come morning. But they never came.

She did not know whether that was due to her parents not knowing that she was still alive, or that they themselves had left the planes of this world.

She finished the letter and blew lightly on the ink, wanting it to dry a little quicker, and looked at the letter she wrote.

* * *

 _Sep. 9_ _th_ _, 1975_

 _Dear Maman,_

 _I truly am sorry for not having written any sooner, to have taken this long to contact you after the attack._

 _I have failed you both as a daughter and a young woman. Please, forgive me. I will beg on my knees, but please forgive me for all that I have done._

 _I have listened carefully to the words of our Mistress of Magic, that as long as she has promised to be a fierce protector of our people, that we, in turn, would be her loyal subjects – Loyal to France._

 _And I have listened so well, Maman. I have obeyed every word but I could not go any longer without telling you that I am alive. I have felt nothing but deep and utter guilt for not sparing your poor nerves._

 _I promise that I will never do so again and will always love you, Papa and Fleur. How did she celebrate her ninth birthday? Did all go well? 27_ _th_ _of July, I do remember, Maman. I always remember. Does she remember me, her big sister?_

 _To yourself and Papa: I am finally and truly safe. P_ _romissum nos soli lumen iustitiam._

 _All my love,_

 _From your daughter,_

 _Hermione A.C.L. Delacour_

* * *

Hermione knew that she would have to write in code. 'Promissum nos soli lumen iustitiam' was House Delacour's motto. She always signed her letters this way. If she did not, her parents might never believe the sender of the letter at all - might never believe her.

She did not remember her sister, Fleur, before writing this letter. Her mind only supplied her with her memory as the words started flowing from her quill to the parchment.

Fleur Isabelle Apolline Delacour. Born on the 27th of July, 1966. Hermione was stumped. Fleur should have been born in 1977. Did her coming here accelerate her birth?

Hermione felt rotten. Not only forgetting that she had a sister but maybe even preventing Bill and Fleur from ever meeting and marrying. She never got to be a sister in her previous life as Hermione Granger, and now that she had gotten the chance, she had all forgotten about being one, about having an actual little sister.

She folded the letter and applied a sticking charm to the end of the parchment, tying a string around it that she had conjured from a lint she had found on her dress. She wrote the names of her parents on it and put it to the side.

Before she had written her letter, she had duplicated the parchment two more times, to write to more letters with it.

With an ache in her heart, she wrote to both the parents of Gabrielle as well as to Emily, informing them about their daughter's death and expressing her condolences.

She felt like a heartless monster writing those last letters, feeling as if she was a heartless bastard that bragged about being alive while their daughters were not.

She folded the letters and applied a sticking charm as well. Finding two more strings of lint on her dress, she transfigured them into a string as well, tying them around each letter.

She stood up slowly from the chair, blowing out the candle as she went and tip-toed to the window. She opened the ledge a little wider than before and cringed as it made a sound. She stopped her movement as Remus let out a particularly large snore.

She waited until he had stopped his movements and went back to sleep before making any movement of turning back to the window.

He settled down and she made a quiet little noise, that was in actuality a short tune. Three owls came swooping from the sky, almost immediate as if they felt her need.

She tied the three letter around each owl's leg as they landed gently on the ledge, not making a sound. ''I will give you all a treat when you return,'' she whispered softly to the owls.

They hooted and she held her breath, hoping that none of the boys would wake up. She looked out the window as the owls stretched their wings and flew off. The three owls flew to the east for a long time before they became small dots and splitting from each other, flying to different directions.

She gave a small sigh of relief and closed to the window to a crack, letting a small breeze flitter through the opening, before tip-toeing back to James' bed and falling asleep.

The night was clear as she fell asleep. Stars shined, planets formed or disappeared. Gods argued and made up. The sky was so deceivingly peaceful.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any sort of profit from this hobby. All rights are reserved for J. K. Rowling. (AN: Please, leave a comment about the story, it would mean the world to me! I apologize if the many updates are confusing but I have noticed, as I have been rereading my work, that I have made a lot of grammar mistakes and what not. Forgive me if it has caused any sort of agitation. Lots of Love xx)

 **Only Time Will Tell**

 _IX: Amber ashes and fiery flames_

 _'PART III: OF REUNIONS AND RECKONINGS'_

By

 **RedLillies**

"We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep.'' **– William Shakespeare**

 **September 12** **th** **, 1975**

The morning mist that coated the ground was disturbed by a young woman walking on the grounds. Her black cloak, both stood out as well as blended in, in the grey landscape as she walked leisurely around the Black Lake.

Her footsteps made tiny squelching noises as they touched the damp grass. The scenery looked like it came out of a storybook about a far-away land. And, if you immersed yourself just a little bit enough, you could almost swear that you were suddenly transported to that same place you so longed for.

It looked ethereal, yet like every story, it had tales of terrible sadness interwoven within.

Looking a little closer at the girl's face, you could see the dreamy, yet sad expression, marring it. Her measured steps took her to the place where almost every tragic story begins.

The girl fiddled with her fingers as she approached the tiny graveyard. She looked just a little over the gravestones and saw the magical barriers sizzling and brewing, showing her, that indeed, it still worked and protected them from outside forces.

She knelt to the ground, right in the middle of the two gravestones and began speaking softly. Her shuddered breath was loud and clear in the early morning of dusk, ''Good morning.''

The vibrations of her voice thrummed and hummed all around her with laden energy, disturbing its peaceful surroundings. It felt like her feet were in the air and her head on the ground. Almost as if her head was going to collapse with the pressure of her voicebox.

She looked ashamed to the ground. Her golden curls tumbled into view as the hood, that once covered her face, fell onto her shoulders.

''I wrote a letter to Papa and Maman but I have yet to receive an answer,'' she told them despondently, ''I don't know if it is they are angry with me or that they just cannot respond…''

The wind began to pick up, ruffling the fallen leaves on the ground and creating mini-tornados. Although it picked up, it did not accelerate beyond control.

''I wrote to your parents as well,'' she traced their names with the tips of her fingers, smearing the condensation from the engraved letters, ''I could do nothing but express my condolences. I am so sorry I could do nothing more.''

Her fingertips left wet smudges on the gravestones. She looked at her fingers with morbid curiosity. The wet tips felt like they were dripping with blood and not water. At that thought, she hurriedly wiped them on her cloak.

''I did not wish for you to die, I could, and never would. I am incredibly sorry, that you meeting me, turned out this way; staying forever young. I love,'' she stopped herself and corrected her mistake, '' – I loved you so much.''

She swallowed the heavy lump in her throat before continuing, ''Do you remember all the things we wanted to do together, just the three of us, explore the world? Now, I feel like all the memories that you have left me with, are haunted. My heart just breaks, thinking – speculating, and feeling, like we were always meant to say goodbye…''

She once more stared at the now dry marks her fingers had left behind on the otherwise wet stones. Not once did she lose her focus from those marks, not once did she look away.

''Know that I love you so but I need to love you enough to let you go…''

This brokenly, haunted, sentence, came out of the depts of her heart, geared towards Harry, Ron and all the people she left behind in her 'other' life.

'''Why do the best people die?' I remember you asking me, Harry. Back then I had no answer. And as I think about it now, I would have liked to pose this question to you: when you are in a garden surrounded by beautiful flowers, which do you pick? You pick the most beautiful ones.''

 _Death always picks the most beautiful ones._

She wiped a tear from her eye and looked a little confused before asking a question, directing it to Gabrielle and Emily, ''Do you think Dumbledore knew what me coming here meant – what was going on around me?''

After she asked the question she mumbled something under her breath along the lines of _'At least I am not deceiving you any longer. I am no longer an imposter.'_

She bent a little forward and brushed the fallen leaves from their graves. Without knowing it, she started telling them about the changes in her life, ''I am now a student of Hogwarts. Sorted in Gryffindor. Can you believe it?''

Her laugh was hollow, ''Of course, you cannot, you are not with me,'' she shook her head, ''Please forgive me for my words. I am not in the right state of mind.''

She looked at the empty graves contemplating something, ''It looks so empty…''

She rocked back on her knees and shakingly kissed their carved names on the marble stone, ''I'll bring some flowers next time. Je t'aime.''

With her last parting words, she stood up and walked around the other half of the Black Lake to the Great Hall for her morning breakfast, leaving her lips reeling with the feeling of being stained red.

•

''Sirius! You put me down this instant!'' Her laugh boomed loud in the courtyard as she was slung over the shoulder of none other than Sirius Black.

This scene was a stark contrast to her morning. No longer could she feel the sadness in her body. At least, at this very moment.

''No!'' He jokingly exclaimed and ran further down the slope towards his and James' spot under the big beech tree that stood to the side of the lake. It had a perfect view of the rippling water and the school that towered high in the blue and clouded sky of the Scottish Highlands.

Hermione lifted her head to see Remus and James walking behind them. Her smile grew as her voice took on a pleading tone, ''Guys, you have to help me!''

She yelped as Sirius almost fell down the slope and frowned as James gave a booming laugh at her contorted face.

James' adoration grew at seeing her open up to his friends. He never thought it possible for her to meet them, to meet the Marauders. If he were honest, it all felt like a dream. Hermione, talking and laughing without abandon with his friends, being herself.

He never really entertained the idea of Hermione coming to Hogwarts, leaving France behind. Now that she was here, he couldn't imagine her being anywhere else.

And yes, he supposed that she never really left France – not on her own violation. But the fact remained that she was here, right in front of him. He felt conflicted as he thought about his best friend that way. Where had all these thoughts and feelings come from?

Sirius finally put her back on the ground and gave her an innocent smile. James and Remus caught up to Hermione, while Sirius and watched amused as she huffed and puffed, trying to right her golden hair.

As she flipped her hair over her shoulders, she put her hands in her side and stated frustrated, ''I can walk, you know?''

Sirius tapped her nose with his finger and watched she scrunched it up, ''Yes, but where is the fun in that?''

She threw her hands up in frustration and started walking away, the boys following, two laughing heartedly and one smugly.

She sat with her back to the bark of the tree and felt the wood poking and prodding her slightly. She watched as Remus sat down with his bag beside him and as Sirius balled up his jacket, lay on the ground and put it behind his head. Hermione opened her arms to James as he went to sit down.

He watched as her long hair blew gently in the wind as she opened her arms. James gulped and walked towards her. He sat tentatively in front of her and lay with his back to her. Her arms encased him as he lay his head on her shoulder, his legs outstretched in front of him.

James grabbed the snitch in his pocket with one of his hands and threw it up into the air, watching as its wings fluttered and the gold reflected on his and Hermione's body.

She observed as the students mingled and as some played Muggle sports. Hermione felt anchored, protected, safe, as she held James. She felt one of her hands reach for his own that wasn't occupied with the snitch, and played with his fingers, twining and loosing; and repeating the cycle.

Remus thought about something his grandfather had once told him as he watched how James and Hermione interacted, totally immersed within their own world.

* * *

 _'_ _When soldiers, in 1945, came back home, back to their loved ones, there were a lot of issues with them. They came back, certainly, but not in the way people expected them to. They weren't crazy, neither were they the happiest of people._

 _They would jump at the tiniest sounds, would not perform certain actions because it made them feel guilty. And some, as it was said, searched for comfort beyond themselves. In a way, that it could ground them to reality – to this world._

 _Either searching that comfort with humans, or with animals, or books, etcetera. However, it was there. They would always keep that person, animal or object close._

 _Close enough, for them to reach out, to centre them again when times would get rough and when they were transported back to the front lines in their mind – to the numbness and the darkness. And that is when those anchors came through. They helped these bleeding soldiers to float above the water, to survive.'_

* * *

''Do you think that looks like a sheep?'' Sirius suddenly asked, pointing at a cloud.

Remus scrunched up his face as he looked at the too bright sky, ''It definitely looks like a horse.''

Sirius scoffed and looked at Hermione, waiting for her answer, ''Hermione, love, please tell him that he is wrong. It is a sheep! Anyone can see that...''

She raised her eyebrow and looked at the sky that was slightly obscured by the leaves of the beech tree, ''Neither, I think it looks more like a giraffe.''

Sirius gave a shocked gasp as Remus burst out laughing.

''Serves you right, Sirius,'' Remus said as he returned to his book.

They were silent for a long time. Each absorbed in their own world. Sirius tossed and turned on the ground, trying to find a comfortable position, arguing with his mind and consciousness.

He frowned at the sky before turning around and laying on his stomach. He faced James and Hermione, looking at her the longest.

He contemplated her trustworthiness as she matched his stare. He took a glance at Remus before turning around, sitting up and facing them completely, sitting criss-cross. He grabbed his jacket and opened the pocket.

''My mother is such a cunt,'' Sirius stated suddenly, scrunching up his face, ''She wrote me a letter to come home for the weekend. Can you believe it? The crazy bint actually _believes_ that I will take her up on that offer. If I never saw her again, it would _still_ be too soon.''

Remus looked up from his book at Sirius as he talked and reached towards the letter Sirius tried to hand him. His eyes skimmed past the prettily formed words and curved letters that said nothing and everything at once.

James rolled his eyes behind his golden-rimmed glasses and stopped fiddling with the snitch that was clutched softly in his hand while the wings fluttered mercilessly, ''What does she want you to do now?''

Sirius shrugged from his position on the ground, ''I don't even want to know.''

''So, are you going or not?'' asked Remus, handing back the letter.

''I don't know, yet, to be honest,'' Sirius looked at Remus, ''I might.''

Hermione remained silent as the boys talked. She chafed off a chilling sensation as Grimmauld Place and Walburga's presence crept into her imagination. She couldn't help but hear the screeches of the woman's portrait in her mind. The derogatory words echoed in her ears as she saw the once pretty Pureblood woman sit stoically in the confines of the painting.

''But when I do see her, I hope that she will at least behave normally,'' Sirius continued, ''Well, even if she wanted to behave normal, she would still be classified as a nutjob.''

''Do you think it will be safe for you to go, Sirius? The last time she saw you, she threatened to disown or kill you.''

''Well, yes, she did. But you have got to remember that she screamed at me because I pranked Reggie and her. Kreacher had to clean up for days after my stunt. I can't truly fault her for that. It may be toxic to think that way, but I am still holding out hope – I just wish that she will finally see me for me, not a delinquent that just happens to be her son.''

Remus jumped up in fright as his wrist-watch started making loud sounds, letting him know that class was about to begin. He looked apologetically at Sirius before standing up and brushing the invisible dust from his slacks. He nodded his head to the entrance of the school.

James stood up from his position and Hermione immediately felt his loss. She never was the one to, unexpectedly and so soon, be emotionally attached to someone. That was why it freaked her out so much. She couldn't help herself, however, after the events in her life, her mind finally caught up with the trauma. And now…

…Now she paid the consequences of always being in the thick of it.

James turned towards her as he stood and reached out a hand. She looked at it for a moment, before grabbing it and hauling herself up.

•

It was deep into the night, maybe even early morning, when Hermione was walking in the halls of Hogwarts. She had just left the Gryffindor girls' dormitory, deciding to go for a walk as she could not sleep. Above her nightgown, she had on a bathrobe that looked like the purest silk, her school crest stitched onto her breast, while the inside of the soft fabric kept her warm from the cold and dreariness.

Her naked feet padded aimlessly in the deserted and darkened halls. Her hair hung in loose ringlets past her shoulders, to the swell of her back. Even though the ground was freezing, her feet were warm. If one was to see her now, they would think her crazy.

Her eyes roamed in the strange world of the dark that was knotted with fears, that in broad daylight, would have perished without recognition.

She felt the shadows watch her and observe her, creeping along with her as she walked. When people say that the dark really changes the view on a room or outside world, they are correct, either meaning it literally or metaphorically.

She noticed that her feet had led her to the stairs of the Astronomy Tower. She looked apprehensively at the stairs and groaned. She really did not want to walk a set of stairs at this time. At any time, really.

However, deep in her heart, she knew that she had to have a breath of fresh air. The girls' dormitory simply felt too stifling for her to sleep in it – to _be_ in it. The girls may be nice but sharing a dorm with Lily Evans, Mary McDonald, Marlene McKinnon, and Alice Dunn was not what she wanted right now.

Lily Evans was really not what she had expected. She was nice to her, that she was, but she was lazy and conceited. Mary McDonald was not much better, although she did not have the same arrogance Lily did. It was more of an appreciation of her own talents that she knew she had and being thankful for them.

Marlene McKinnon was a healthy, confident mix of everything. Not too confident that you would not want to be in her company, only boasting about herself, neither was she self-conscious.

Alice Dunn was the exact opposite of Lily and Mary. She was clumsy, adored everyone – Hermione in particular – was studious, snarky and simply hilarious. At the time, she did not know that Alice Dunn would be the mother of Neville Longbottom. It was a shock, however, when she _did_ find out.

Really, the only highlight in that dorm _was_ Alice Dunn.

As she opened the door at the top of the stairs, she saw someone standing against the railing. His elbows were leaning heavily on the railing as he balanced his head on his fists, looking at the night sky. His shoulder-length hair fell slightly past his shoulders as he stood in that position.

She had to admit, the stance looked a bit awkward.

She was startled as the door closed behind her with a thud. She looked at the door with great offence before slowing turning her head, looking if Sirius had acknowledged her presence.

''The quiet night, the crisp air – it truly puts your troubles into perspective, doesn't it?''

She jumped at his voice and regained her wits as she slowly walked towards him, standing side-by-side, looking at the sky. The wind ruffled and danced playfully with her hair.

''I often times come here when I need to make an important decision.''

They were silent for a while before he rubbed his eyes and laughed playfully, ''Fuck, I really sounded like Dumbledore there, didn't I?''

She chuckled quietly before her voice died down. She turned her head towards the breeze and closed her eyes. Enjoying the feel of the wind caressing her face.

''Hermione?''

''Hmm?''

''Although the situation is not ideal, I am really glad that you have come into our lives. James has talked so much about you, that I feel like I have known you for forever. The real version, however, is way better than I have imagined,'' he teased playfully as he looked at the grounds before turning serious again, ''I heard that you give quite good advice. Could you give me one of your famous quotes?''

She opened her eyes and looked at him. I mean, really looked at him. His eyes portrayed the vulnerability that he so tried to hide from the outside world.

A moment later, she realized that James had told his friends about her so-called 'famous quotes'. She didn't know whether to strangle him or give him a hug for being so nice.

''Well, if you look at the decision as an ethical one – it typically chooses between two options: one we know to be right and another to be wrong. A defining moment, however, challenges you in a deeper way by asking yourself between two or more ideals in which you deeply believe. Such actions rarely have a 'correct' response…''

Sirius listened mesmerized as he looked in front of him. His brows furrowed as he concentrated on her words.

''Rather, they are created by circumstances that ask us to step forward and 'form, reveal, and test' ourselves. We form our character when we commit to irreversible courses of action that shape our personal identities. We reveal something new about us to ourselves and others because defining moments uncover something that had been hidden or crystallized something, that had been only partially known. And we test that because we discover whether we will live up to our personal ideals or only to pay them lip service.''

She looked at him, ''All the events we have experienced in a lifetime up to this very moment, have been created by thoughts and beliefs we have formed yesterday, last week, last month, last year, ten years ago. However, that is your past. It is over and done with. What is important at this moment is what you are choosing to think and believe and say right now. For these thoughts will create your future. Your joint of power is in the present moment and is forming the experience of tomorrow, next week, next month, next year, and so on.''

She leaned towards him with a teasing smile on her face, ''Those were Louise Hay and Neale Walsch, by the way.''

He smiled and shook his head, ''Hermione, you truly do not disappoint.''

''Thank you,'' she said proudly.

She sighed before turning the rest of body towards him, a frown on her face, ''I know that it is easier to give advice to someone else instead of following your own words or following someone else's advice. I don't want to sound cheesy, but I'll risk it anyway. I really want what is best for you, only if I have known you for such a short amount of time.''

She continued before he could reply, ''Sirius, nobody can make this decision for you. Whether you go or not, it is _you_ who has to choose. It is _your_ life, not someone else's.''

Sirius sighed deeply and closed his eyes with a pained expression. ''I know, Hermione. And that is what makes it so difficult. In this situation, one where I have been horribly treated by the ones I love… or loved. Whether they are awful or not, they are part of me. Maybe I don't like it, but it is true. I make excuses for them – for my family. One that does not deserve my forgiveness. Yet, I give it anyway. Because they are _family_.''

He shook his head at his own naivety, ''I have this stupid hope and longing in me that one day, they will change. And I know that will never happen. I now realize that such dreams are foolish. They can't and will never happen. And I want to apologize for that. To myself, to them, to the world even, when I know that it isn't my fault. Yet, I do apologize. I do it all the time.''

His gaze was unfocused as he opened his eyes, looking at the grounds stretched before them. ''My mother hasn't been my mother since I was a little child. I feel horrible saying that now. I know that she is my mother, I know that she is the woman that birthed me, yet, I don't know anything personal about her. I can't remember her hugs, her affection, none of it.''

He cleared his throat as he let all his thoughts spew out of his mouth, ''My father is out of the picture, serving a mad-man that has decided to take over the world. He has left me and my brother with a crazy woman. Even when he was in the picture, he was never truly there. He has dragged all of my family members into this man's dark and charming words, yet never realizing who this man truly is. He was manipulated by a monster - a psychopath.''

''And I miss him. I feel bereft. Bereft of the things I have never gotten to experience with him," he shrugged his shoulders sadly, "My situation at home might not seem much compared to other people, my parents never physically beat me, but for me… it has left me growing up much faster than I should.''

''If my mother's letter is some sick ploy to get me to join this 'Dark Lord'… I don't know what I'll do with myself. I don't want them to own me – my guilt to own me – if I choose not to visit. As you said, I need to make my own decision. However, which option is right or wrong?''

Hermione's worried eyes bore into him as she lay a gentle hand on his shoulder, ''You will get there in the end, Sirius. You truly underestimate yourself.''

Sirius looked appreciatively at her as he squeezed the hand on his shoulder, ''Thank you, Hermione, truly.''

She gave him warm smile in response as he slowly made his way to the winding staircase of the tower to go to his dormitory.

Hermione watched him go and turned around once the door closed and Sirius was out of sight. Her eyes roamed over the moonlit grounds as the wind picked up again.

The icy wind blew harsh against her thinly clad body. Wrapping her arms around her body, she closed her eyes, closing herself off from one of her most important senses. She felt the hairs on her arms rise as her hypersensitive skin felt a great burst of flame nearby.

''Hi Fawkes,'' she said softly and tiredly, ''what are you doing here?''

The great, red, flaming bird cocked his head to the side at her questioning voice. He squawked as Hermione made tiny and slow steps towards the magnificent bird, her heart hammering all the while. The last time Fawkes appeared before her with a message, the sender had led Hermione and Emily into a false state of security and peace.

She looked at his feet and saw the note dangling from his ankle. Her hand reached towards the rolled-up parchment, all the while maintaining eye contact with the bird as a show of respect. He squawked loudly again as her fingers grazed the parchment.

''I just have to take this letter, Fawkes,'' she told him gently, ''I am not going to hurt you.''

Phoenixes were rare and Hermione, as usual, had read enough about them to know how to approach one if they ever came near humankind.

She untied the string from his foot and felt the heat emanating from him as he disappeared in a great ball of flames. Hermione looked at the note tightly clutched in her hand and opened it with her heart lodged in her throat. Why would Dumbledore try to contact her at this hour? She smoothed down the crinkled paper against her stomach and read.

 _The Mother Phoenix has risen, the daughter must come at once. Our hands will be merged._

She furrowed her brows in confusion and looked at the back of the letter to see if something else had been written. Nothing was.

All of a sudden, her eyes widened in realization. She grabbed her long nightgown firmly in her hands and ran from the tower. Her feet hurried down the stone halls. The flames in the torches lit up as she ran and ran.

She did not even notice that she had reached the Headmaster's office, nor that the Griffin had already opened. The muttering of the Headmaster did not withhold her from opening the door as soon as she saw the entrance to his office.

He looked up as the wood that separated them suddenly opened. His eyes looked at her attire and back to her. Hermione blushed as she felt his eyes and self-consciously crossed her arms over her breasts.

She did not bring her wand, so she could not transfigure her clothing into something more suitable. She looked down at her feet as her they shuffled awkwardly.

''Good evening, Miss Delacour,'' Dumbledore said, facing her properly, ''I did not expect you to come so swiftly.''

Her rounded eyes followed him as he resumed his pacing and she caught her breath, ''Something both terrible and astonishing has happened. By your state, you have already guessed what this may be. It has awakened.''

Hermione nodded her head wordlessly.

''We cannot talk here. The walls have ears.'' He looked pointedly at the paintings of his predecessors.

Dumbledore stretched his hand out towards her and she grabbed it tightly. In a moment, she felt her body compress and stretch to accommodate the magic of the Apparition.

They landed unsteadily in an empty field surrounded by land that stretched for miles and miles. The grazing of cows accompanied the sight of the rolling green hills. She looked at the scenery a bit off. Why would Dumbledore bring her to this strange place?

Dumbledore let go of her hand and searched in the pockets of his robe, extracting a slip of paper. He gave it to Hermione and watched as her eyes roamed over the paper, trying to memorize it.

 _Aberforth Dumbledore lives within Number 7, Abby Road in Falmouth._

The wards rippled and stretched in the landscape before her, showing her an old cottage. The roof was slightly slanted and if it wasn't for magic, the quaint little house would have toppled over a long time ago.

The white paint of the window sills was slowly being chipped away by the wind and the rain and other conditions of nature. The yellow foundation of the house had gotten less and less bright as the years had gone by, leaving it in the state it now was.

The lights in the house were turned on and she could see people walking in front of the sheer-curtain covered windows and disappearing again behind the safety of the walls.

Her still naked feet entered through the wards and slowly walked towards the front door. Dumbledore was a little behind her and kept oddly silent.

The old light blue door creaked as she turned the doorknob and opened it. She stepped into the dimly lit hallway cautiously. She neared a second door that was made almost entirely from stained glass, and walked straight into a fully lit room filled with all kinds of people; young and old, tall and short, male and female.

They were talking and laughing until their eyes landed on her. No, not on her but behind her. She stood petrified watching the crowd in front of her before she turned her head and saw Dumbledore standing behind her.

She exhaled in relief and not being the centre of attention and stepped to the side to let him pass through. The group of people, suddenly, all stood straight and proud.

''Good evening, Albus,'' spoke one of the men in the room. His pristine robes seemed to be slightly out of sorts compared to all the others.

''Good morning, Lord Potter.''

Hermione's eyes became a little wide and worried, at the declaration of the person's identity. The woman next to him seemed to be looking intently at her, seemingly restraining herself not to run to her and give her a hug.

''Hermione?''

In the back of the room, a woman's disbelieving exhale could not be heard. Her flowing blond hair and soulful blue eyes were remarkably important as she pushed through the crowd to try to get a better look. Apolline's eyes filled with tears as she saw her daughter standing there, alive, for the first time in months.

The woman rushed to her oldest daughter and embraced her ferociously, crying all the while. Hermione shot out of her stupor and embraced her mother equally as hard. They could not seem to let go of each other.

Not far away from his wife, Jack, Hermione's father, pushed through the crowd following his wife closely and embraced them equally as ferocious; afraid of what would happen should he let go.

The order stood petrified, watching the emotional scene from afar. Looking on with heartfelt gazes and sadness.

Hermione's head, that was once buried in her mother's hair, looked up. Her eyes widened slightly as they connected with a shy girl standing in the corner of the room clutching her blue, cotton bunny, shuffling nervously on her feet, all the while worrying her lower lip.

A nine-year-old child. Nine years of memories. A girl, who was born too early, who was not supposed to live. She should have _never_ been nine years old. She _should_ have been born in two years' time. Not nine years ago.

And yet, here she stood: the physical representation of the grown woman Hermione had always known.

''Fleur,'' came Hermione's breathless voice.

The light-blond, curly-haired girl jumped a little in fright as her older sister spoke her name in such a revered and fear-filled voice.

Her old-fashioned, white cotton, night dress moved with her body as she slowly walked to Hermione. Her mother and father carefully untangled from her, yet still watched her, trying to keep her within arms' distance.

The young yet, fragile girl picked up her pace as she came closer and closer to Hermione until she almost sprinted across the room. Fleur jumped in Hermione's arms and sobbed into her neck, her legs around her waist, her blue bunny held tightly in her fist as they clutched desperately to each other.

Hermione almost toppled over from the sudden weight and carefully moved down to the ground until she sat on her knees, not letting go of the girl.

Hermione felt the girl's sobs wreck over her body as her little sister murmured and sobbed incomprehensibly into her ear. One of her hands raised to Fleur's head and gently stroked her girls calming her down, ''Shh, _solnyshko_ , it'll be alright.''

The fact that she was holding Fleur both scared the living daylights out of her, while at the same time, fuelled her aching heart with love and adoration.

It did not matter that all these people around her were staring at her. It did not matter that they were looking with their piercing gazes. It did not matter.

The loving arms of the little girl did not once consider relinquishing their hold, even when the Headmaster cleared his throat, even when she stood up and moved to the couch, her parents following her.

Hermione vaguely heard Dumbledore start his speech, talking to this group of people, piercing them right in their hearts as his words left his mouth. His words climbed and grew as if they were weed birthed from soil, tar, and utter sadness; that had blossomed from the ground and warped and twisted slowly, climbing, up against their legs and claiming more and more of their bodies and souls.

''And it is to my great sadness that we have lost another one of our brave children: a true survivor,''

Hermione's interest peaked as Dumbledore spoke those words. Her eyes lifted to him and she opened her ears.

''May Louis Allert, a once bright sixteen-year-old, rest in peace and be enveloped with love and guidance into his next great adventure.''

She remembered a little ten-year-old, blond boy from her sorting. Someone who she barely saw besides meal times and occasionally classes.

Her mouth parted, and a rattling breath escaped her lips. She wasn't the only one left. There were more. A greedy voice in her mind lapped at the information that there were more of her kind, more survivors.

''What?'' She voiced aloud, although it came more out like a whisper. Hermione felt Fleur's arms tighten even further at the news of the death of one of her year mates.

''There are more?'' She questioned hungrily, yearning clear in her voice, as her eyes roved over her Headmaster's face.

''Yes, Miss Delacour, although not many, there are more survivors of the terrible tragedy that occurred in the Battle of Beauxbatons.''

''That is what they are calling it?'' Her voice broke at the proclamation.

Her eyes burned as she blinked fast and heavily. She looked down to her arms in preparation and tightened her arms around Fleur.

''How many?'' she asked, her voice thick.

* * *

I never knew what was going through her head at that time, what horrors she must have faced, what she mustn't have thought. I could have never comprehended how someone would react to such news – the news of a missing or deceased person – until I saw it first-hand.

I always found her brave: my hero. And as I think back to that gloomy and desolate time, I cannot help but admire her even more.

* * *

''It is getting harder and harder to reach the children but,'' Dumbledore looked straight at her now, ''only three have survived, besides yourself.''

She nodded and looked down at the dark stained, wooden floor, away from the Headmaster's piercing eyes. She breathed through her nose. The airway in her throat tightened. She couldn't be in that room any longer. She could not handle the piercing gazes of the Order of the Phoenix.

Hermione moved Fleur carefully from her lap, assuring her that she would come back as she tried to cling heavily to her, and left the living room. She walked aimlessly through the tiny cottage until she randomly opened a door and entered it.

She did not notice the cold blue colouring of the tiles, nor the warm light that hung from the ceiling, giving the room a yellow glow. Neither did she notice the white, fluffy, towels that hung from little hooks on the wall.

Her body collapsed against the door the moment she closed it. Putting her hand on her mouth she willed the bile that gathered in her throat to go back down. How could only three people and herself have survived the attack? She knew that the chances were slim, but one could only hope.

She had never really given herself the luxury to think back about the attack. Now that she did, she could only think about the fact that it meant that more than a thousand students and teachers had died on that fateful day.

With that thought, Hermione crawled to the toilet in haste and spewed all the fluid that had gathered itself in her throat, out of her body.

She wiped the traitorous tears from her eyes before they could escape past her cheeks and into the toilet. Her head rested heavily on her arms that hugged the loo. She couldn't actually believe that this was all happening.

Hermione sniffed loudly and gathered herself from the floor. Her little sister needed her, she couldn't wallow. People needed her. They needed her to be strong.

The ring on her left middle finger felt heavier than ever. Not only did it represent this life she had created, but her past life as well. It was a reminder. A reminder to go on.

She righted her nightgown and walked to the basin. Her hands opened the cold-water tab. Cupping her hands under the streaming her water, she gathered it and gently let the water glide over her face, hiding the red blotchiness that had formed itself on her once porcelain skin.

She looked in the mirror and saw only a shell of the young and vibrant woman she used to be in her own time behind her eyes, before Hogwarts, before all the tragedy had started.

She shook her head. She mustn't think about that.

Hermione opened the door and was assaulted with a screaming match. She hurried from the hallway into the living room. What greeted her was utter pandemonium.

She looked on as members of the Order of the Phoenix argued with each other. _Loudly_.

Her mother stood in the middle arguing with Dumbledore, her father beside her. Her eyes swept past all the members in search for the most important one. She stopped searching when she saw her little sister crying openly on the couch.

The ruffles on her nightgown accentuating the dishevel she had created herself while twisting it with one hand, the other clutching her blue toy tightly against her chest; lips against it.

She was incensed. How could they have led their arguments this far that her sister was becoming so distressed? She put her fingers to her mouth and blew harshly. The sound that followed from her action caused people to stop in their tracks and look at her at once.

''Calm down,'' she pleaded, not so much with her words but with her voice, ''whatever went wrong, we have to resolve it peacefully. Otherwise, nothing will come to pass.''

A rather proud looking man looked down his nose at her and sneered, ''And what would you know about war, girl. You have experienced nothing.''

Hermione looked at him with a sharp glare. She did not deign him a response, rather, she asked something instead, ''And who might you be?''

He straightened his posture before answering, looking proud, ''Elphias Dodge.''

''Well, Elphias,'' he bristled at the use of his first name, ''sometimes the most unexpected people have the deepest scars.''

Elphias Dodge scoffed and looked at the rest for support, none gave him what he sought, however, and he frowned, looking at his shoes.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, ''Yes, well Miss Delacour is correct. We have to resolve our problems in a calm manner.''

Someone that stood in the back of the crowd suddenly piped up, ''Albus, but how can you be absolutely sure Lord Voldemort is now hunting those survivors as well?''

The woman next to him hissed at him, ''Were you not here in this very room only seconds ago, Dearborn, or are you that stupid?''

The woman that stood beside him now spoke to all of them, ''He Who Must Not Be Named has been searching endlessly for those survivors. There are rumours on the streets that he will murder anyone that will harbour 'One of his children', 'Lucifer's Angels' he calls them.''

Hermione felt sick once more. She felt her mother move to her side and grab her hand tightly against her own. Hermione thought she was assuring herself that she was still there, still alive, but she couldn't be sure.

She looked back at the couch and saw that her father was finally consoling her little sister.

Hermione steeled herself for what she was about to do, ''If it comes to pass and the Order will need help, I will. I will sacrifice myself if it is needed to win this war. I may be young in your eyes, but I have seen things that you could never imagine. I can fight. I know how his mind works. I know how his follower's mind works. Please don't make the same mistakes our country did, my school did...''

"And how would we do that, by listening to you?" Dodge asked.

Hermione looked at him with disappointment, "Would that be so terrible?"

The Order looked confused, some angry, and some indifferent at her before her father sprung from the couch, anger marring his still youthful face. ''NO. Absolutely not, Hermione,'' her father piped up, ''You will not be a sacrificial lamb in this war. I will not allow it!''

Dumbledore looked pointedly at her, wanting to make his previously made points clear: he was right.

She looked at her father once more, ''Papa,'' she said almost pleadingly, ''You have heard the woman. They are coming either way, whether we want to or not. They are searching for me. Why can I not help?''

''I said no, Hermione,'' his voice was stern and as hard as steel, ''you will not give yourself up for this stupid crusade of yours. It will do you no good!''

She closed her mouth and looked at Dumbledore. She knew that she would not get any help from him at this moment but knew, that he knew, that she was their only hope.

Be it she would become a sacrificial lamb, or not. It did not matter. She was truly losing her mind if she kept thinking that way.

Hermione nodded reluctantly and moved to the couch to gather her shaking sister in her arms, "May she sleep in my bed tonight, Headmaster?''

The old man stroked his beard and nodded once, ''We will have a room prepared for your parents as well. They would have to leave in the morning though, I am afraid.''

Her parents exhaled relieved. They did not have to part from their daughter at this very moment.

''We are taking leave. Expect my next Patronus. Thank you for your time," He said as he signalled the Delacour family to follow him with a wave of his hand.

Before he closed the front door of Aberforth's house, he could hear an outraged shout from Caradoc Dearborn, ''Albus?!''

* * *

I never knew until this very moment how much I loved and cherished her. How she saved me from my own monster plaguing my mind. I wondered then, would she, once upon a December still be here, or would I forget her voice like a sound is lost in the harsh wind?

Will you forever be here, swirling across my memory?

Thank you, Hermione, truly, for all that you have done.


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any sort of profit from this hobby. All rights are reserved for J. K. Rowling (AN: here it is! a new chapter! thank you, everyone, for staying with me for this story and for accepting that it might take longer for me to upload consistently. I am not entirely sure of this chapter but let me know!. Lots of Love xx)

 **Only Time Will Tell**

 _X: Illusions of naivety._

By

 **RedLillies**

''Not all of our heartless plans work as we intended, nor do all of our good intentions. We are where we are, and we can rarely predict where we will go, no matter how firm our beliefs.'' **– Michelle Sagara**

 **October 30** **th** **, 1975**

Days had come and gone, as did Hermione's sister and parents. Her family was not given any asylum at Hogwarts. She had not expected them to be given one, yet it did not mean that she was happy being proven right.

It was weird being at Hogwarts again, seeing as to how daily life continued. It did not wait on her as it flowed and changed. Time did not wait on anyone, not even her.

She felt nervous as she walked from class to class and soaked in the knowledge the professors tried to teach her. It was almost Halloween, otherwise known as Samhain. And, with her experience, something always went completely wrong around Halloween.

How can you prepare for something you cannot see but know is there?

The veil to the other side thinned with every step and every minute that went by. She could feel the presence of the ancestors as the wall between the living and the dead became frailer. She could feel the demons and the monsters trying to claw their way up from the fiery pits of hell, leaving their confines; playing on their heavy drums with the horrendous, torturous, screams as its choir.

The hellfire that rose and licked threateningly with their ascend, sluggishly burned the souls of her shoes as they slapped on the stone floors. The demons that had already escaped, jumped from corner to corner in the ancient hallway with their clawed hands, to watch as she walked and weaved through the crowd with her friend by her side.

Hermione listlessly lowered herself next to Alice Dunn on to the oak benches beside the tables. She looked around the Great Hall, took in the decorations that were already set up and inhaled the smells of delicious food. The carved smiles of the turnips turned jack o' lanterns, that stood all along the walls of the Hall, shone with a twisted hue. She blinked and saw the visage vanish. No longer was there evil staring back at her but an innocent carved turnip.

She had the feeling that her mind was trying to deceive her by creating a visual image of her paranoia. As Nearly Headless Nick suddenly floated in front of her, Hermione jumped in fright. He grabbed the side of his head and tipped it to her, ''Good evening, Miss.''

''Evening, Nick.'' Hermione succeeded to get out. The dull chatter in the background rose in volume as her thoughts were taken away from her.

Alice Dunn looked at her from beside her and gave her a comforting smile, ''Are you alright, Hermione?'' Hermione nodded distractedly.

The girls ate their dinner quietly. With Hermione lost in her thought about her family, Alice got the chance to look at her friend closely. Her eyes flitted over Hermione's face before looking at her plate, her face painted by a conspicuous smile, an idea in her head.

The walk to the Gryffindor Common Room was spent in a comfortable silence. They did not feel the need to talk. Suddenly, Alice turned around with a bright smile on her face.

"Wait here." The girl skipped around and entered through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor Common Room. It did not take long for the giddy girl to come back and rescue Hermione from her confusion.

Hermione entered the common room and was immediately dragged to the Marauders in the corner of the room. Once Sirius spotted her, he stood up with a flirtatious smile, "You, my girl, need some cheering up."

The boy walked from the couches and grabbed her hand, dragging her to their dormitory, the boys in tow. "Come, come," he told Hermione. "Excuse me," Sirius weaved through the children with excitement, "Coming through. Excuse me!"

Sirius ran up the stairs and slammed the door open to their room, immediately running to their bedside table. Hermione watched with wide-eyes as his search for something was accompanied by him throwing his clothes on the ground. Finally, the excitable boy grabbed something out of his drawers and showed it to her. Meanwhile, James and Remus sat on James' bed looking at what Sirius was trying to do for their friend.

"A radio?" Hermione asked confused.

Sirius brows slightly drew up, "Well, yes, but not just any radio," his excitement back in full force, "It is the Soundbox 6000. It connects with almost every radio station out there in the Muggle world. It was specifically designed to be able to work in high levels of magic. It bought it just the other week, but I trust it will work."

Hermione nodded with rosy cheeks and slow burning excitement in her eyes as well. Sirius saw this and quickly put the radio on his bed, clicking on the on-button. The first notes that played immediately brought tears into her eyes. This song was played thousands of times by her mother when she was still Hermione Granger.

She felt the tears but did not let them fall, instead, her smile brightened as Sirius grabbed her hand and started twirling her around the room, dancing to the music without restriction. Her laugh bounced off the walls for the first time since her family had left and it was incredibly infectious and addictive in James' eyes. He never wanted that smile to leave her face.

After a while, Remus joined the duo, as well as Alice and James, and they spent the night doing everything in their ability for Hermione to forget her worries, even if just for the night.

•

She could not remember why she was here. Last she recalled, she and Alice were walking towards the Gryffindor common room. Shouldn't she be in bed?

Hermione looked down at her feet and frowned. She could not recall when she had put on trainers. Her eyes glided along her body. At least, this time, she had the sense to put some normal clothing on and her plain black cloak. Her hand raised to her hair and felt it hanging loose again.

Hermione stopped and blinked at her surroundings. Tiny snowflakes gently descended from the dark sky and covered the grounds and the trees with a reassuring blanket. The ice-covered snow cracked beneath her as she made the first step deeper into the forest, leaving only a mark of her shoe behind. Twigs swiped passed her ankles as she walked, drawing blood, while the biting cold of the night made the stings of her wounds numb and weep slower than they did before. Yet despite the cold, her body felt feverish.

Hermione looked up from the offending ground, around her. Snow-topped trees surrounded her even as she moved from her previous position. On and on they went, without an end in sight. The dark fog that lingered in the air made the moonlight almost impossible to penetrate. If she had to guess, she would think that she was in the Forbidden Forest.

Hermione searched for her wand and found it in the sleeve of her jumper. She couldn't imagine how she could not have felt it before this very moment.

It was silent and the eerie atmosphere made her distrustful. She gripped her Vinewood wand hard in her hand and carefully, step by step, inched forward. A soft voice slithered into her mind, _''Go forward, Hermione. Go…''_

She did not like it. Not at all.

She walked further, further than she had ever been with Harry, into the woods she had feared as a child. Yet she could not understand what this feeling of hers wanted her to do until she suddenly saw a little flicker of light in the distance.

Hermione stilled. She did not dare breath or even light her wand. She looked at the light source both frightfully and yearnfully. Was this what she was supposed to see? The little puff of her warm breath swirled viciously before her eyes as she curled her toes into her trainers, trying, to lessen the numbness.

She slowly approached the light but did not risk coming any closer than she already was. And although it may not have been more than two meters from where she last stood, she could still sense the danger. Her ankles throbbed as she balanced on the revealing roots of one of the trees, hiding behind its thick trunk.

A massive bonfire crackled and burned in the middle of a clearing surrounded by hills and people dressed in all-black. She heard their cheers loudly in the clearing, feeling the vibrations of their choruses in her eardrums and her ribcage; hypnotizing her with its steady hum.

A man with straight, long, blond hair stood on the highest hill. Looking as if he was consumed by the fire as if he reigned over the uncontrollable element.

The man's name on her lips stole her breath away, making it barely heard – even to her.

''Malfoy…''

She held her breath as she listened to their jaunts and cheers, a deep smirk carved into his face.

''My brother and sisters,'' Lucius Malfoy looked at the group assembled in front of him, ''Today will change the course of history. Forever. This attack on Hogsmeade will mark the beginning of our reign.''

Malfoy waited as the group laughed before continuing, ''Today, we will pave the path to our glorious right! We will finally take back what is rightfully ours, we will take back our magical right and prove that we are SUPERIOR!''

Malfoy paused his speech to create a sense of suspense, a yearning for an answer. ''And do you know who they are?''

The crowd cheered. ''DO YOU?'' Malfoy screamed at them.

''The Mudbloods,'' one yelled over their boisterous laughter.

His hands moved with passion as he spoke, hypnotizing the people that were taking in all of his words, ''The Mudbloods! Exactly! Because if we do nothing…''

Hermione exhaled slowly and soundlessly, her eyes wide, terrified to make even a single movement of her chest rising up to take in the breath she so needed.

''…If we continue to let them run free, they will wreak havoc upon our society. They are beasts let loose and there is no denying that they're there. They live among our presence. They take away our rights, they take away our money, our children's birthright! Magic blooms only in rare souls, and still, we must squall in the shadows. They steal the magic of pureblood witches and wizards, making squibs!''

Hermione steadied herself. Her nails cut viciously into the bark of the tree, drawing dirt and blood underneath the beds of her nails, trying with no avail, to steady her against their spite and hate.

''I say no more! These savages will feel the wrath of our glorious Lord! Let them feel our hate. Let them _burn_ in our anger!''

Malfoy looked around the clearing, ''It is time to make some action, brothers and sisters!''

His smile twisting with maliciousness, ''They will perish under the strain of our magic. We will make these _savages_ regret coming into our world – make them regret being born. We will show our dominance over the Wizarding World. So, grab your wands and we will go. We will not rest till their dead!''

The crowd cheered once more, sending a shudder down her spine.

''Take no prisoners. Only let them live if they can prove they have pure, magical, blood. If you find one of our Lord's Angels. Take them. And the rest?''

The crowd chorused as one, ''Kill them all!''

The dark energy hummed and churned as their hateful words and dark magic resonated in the woods. It stiffened Hermione's airway. She couldn't breathe. She had to get away.

She turned around and ran. She had to warn the people in Hogsmeade. No matter what. Lives had to be saved.

Lucius Malfoy's fist flew into the air, his arm straight as he relished in the choir of his cause, ''Long live the Dark Lord! Long live our King!''

''BEGIN!''

She gritted her teeth against the stinging of her eyes and ran, not knowing where she ran to. The only thing she knew was that she ran away from the Death Eaters. She followed her gut feeling and ran North.

She did not know how she got out of the woods but she did. As she stood in the tree line, she looked around hastily and conjured her Patronus. Hermione did not even look at her magical representation before she sent it off, "Get the Order. Hogsmeade attack. Death Eaters. NOW!''

She ran down the hill into the valley where Hogsmeade lay and knocked on the first doors, screaming in panic. Standing in the town square, looking desperately around, she cast a Sonurus on her voice, "You have to get out! Please, run! THEY ARE COMING, HIDE! Run, hide or fight, Please.''

Hermione watched as nobody came out of their houses. Nobody was doing anything! She heard Bellatrix's cackling in the distance.

She turned around wildly and looked more attentively at the houses themselves. The town looked barely alive. The windows were broken, the houses charred.

She was too late. Her hands gripped her hair tightly in her hands. She felt the strands of hair pull her skin harshly back as she gripped it and twisted it in her sorrow, letting out an unearthly scream.

''Hermione, Hermione!''

Hermione woke up with a startled gasp. Her eyes locked with Alice Dunn's worried ones.

''Are you okay?''

Hermione pushed herself up on her elbows and rubbed a hand over her face, looking confusedly at the room. After a moment, a sinking feeling erupted in Hermione's belly.

''I'm sorry I have woken you up, Alice,'' she whispered to the girl.

The old wooden bed creaked as Alice sat on the edge of her mattress and shook her head lightly, ''No, it's fine. Do you want to talk about it?''

Hermione nodded uncertainly. She did not know what possessed her to accept Alice's offer. Any other time, she would have sent the person away to let her wallow in her own pity and sadness. Maybe the tides were changing. Maybe she was changing.

Alice climbed over Hermione's body, closed the curtains of the bed and slid under the covers with her friend. As Alice moved into a comfortable position, Hermione grabbed her wand from under her pillow and listened as her magic cut of Marlene's light snoring, encompassing them in a silencing bubble.

The girl put a lock of hair behind her ear before putting that hand under her head on the pillow, watching as Hermione moved to face her. ''I'm sorry, Hermione.''

''Don't be.'' Hermione's words made them leap into silence.

Alice's big, worried, eyes bored into her face as she watched her closely, ''Do you get them often?''

''I lie awake in bed all night thinking about-" the end of her sentence died on her lips, "I can't get a night's sleep without them.''

Alice's hand reached towards her cheek, stroking it softly, ''Have you tried asking Madam Pomfrey for a sleeping potion?''

Hermione looked sadly at her friend, ''I am not allowed. Madam Pomfrey fears I might get addicted and that I will grab for it every night instead of trying to fall asleep on my own. As well as that I don't trust me enough to stop myself.''

Alice knotted her eyebrows, ''Merlin,'' she uttered under her breath. Alice looked as if she was contemplating asking something but did not dare to. Somewhere in her, Alice found her courage to try and dispel the sadness Hermione was shrouded in. ''Do you have any siblings, Hermione?''

She gave a fond little smile, ''A younger sister, Fleur. She's nine.''

''That's lovely,'' Alice replied with a smile, ''I am an only child myself. I've always wondered what it would be like to have siblings.''

A little smile graced Hermione's lips as she thought back at the younger sister she had only known and physically seen for such a short time. ''You can't really describe it. I love her with all my heart and would do anything for her, yet she annoys me sometimes to no end… It's like you hate them and love them at once. There is no in-between.''

''Oh, well if you say it like that.'' Alice's soft giggle died down and she once again looked at Hermione. Alice continued in a whispered and vulnerable voice, "When I, well, when I cannot sleep or have sad thoughts plaguing my mind, I like to come back to my imaginary world."

Hermione dragged the thick woollen blanket that had slipped down, over their shoulders once more as she listened closely. "I like to imagine a world, whether that be in the north, south, west or east from where I am, a place where we can be ourselves. A place where there is no war, no hatred, no bigotry and no crime. A place filled with content, happiness, and love. A home. And, somehow, I always seem to find my gaze directing itself to the Lupus constellation like it is calling to me, night and day."

Alice sighed wistfully, "It is so far away, so far, that when I look at it, I envision that my dream world exists, somewhere, within its many planets and stars. That, even though it can never exist here, there, it will flourish and bloom…"

"And when I see it, I imagine that the wolf in the sky will protect me and everyone I hold dear." Alice heaved a sigh, "Familiae honor virtus veritatis. Family, honour, courage and truth. My House motto."

Green met blue. "That includes you as well, Hermione. I may not have known you personally for that long, yet you have buried yourself deep into my heart. House Dunn and Delacour have been friends and allies for a very long time. During the rise of Grindelwald, our grandparents had sought to create a strong alliance between our two houses by marrying our cousins in union. Our families have always had a strong bond, however, I," Alice's face flushed, "Never mind, I digress. You have become family. And, as you are one of us, the Dunn's, Hermione, know that I will always put my family first – put you first."

Alice quickly shrugged off the thick blankets and climbed over Hermione. "What are you doing?"

Alice shuddered as the cold October night breezed past her unclothed legs. She whispered quietly to her friend, "Wait here. I have something for you."

The girl tip-toed slowly past the sleeping girls in the other cots and reached under the mattress of her own. Hermione looked confused at the girl as her hand disappeared further under her mattress.

Alice's dark tresses fell into her mouth as she tried to look if her hand was close enough for her to grab it. She clutched the object triumphantly in her fist and walked back to Hermione's bed, all the while trying to get her hair out of her mouth.

Alice climbed back into Hermione's bed and gently grabbed her wrist. If Hermione were in her real body, Granger's body, she would have felt the agonizing pain as Alice's fingers skimmed past the carved letters. Yet, she felt nothing. Nothing that could tell her that this was real, that this was really happening.

Hermione felt Alice gently tie a leather string around her wrist. As a small object caressed her skin, she looked down. A tiny white wolf carved from a Ghost Gum tree, native to Australia, dangled from the leather bracelet.

"I made this not too long ago. The black wolf is part of our house crest," Alice paused a little, contemplating her words, "and as family, I thought you would like to wear our sigil but instead of black, white."

Hermione looked in reverence at the little wolf. "The white wolf was a fairy-tale my Nan used to tell. I worshipped the story. Every night my Nan would tell me the same story over and over again at my insistence."

Hermione looked up into Alice's eyes. "The white wolf represents resurrection. When the white wolf emerges, the lands, the waters, the animals, the air, everything will be purified – and only the strong will survive."

Alice's hand glided softly from her cheek to rest between them, "I had a feeling you would come here. Not you in particular, but a person who I would call family, who I would be proud to call brother or sister. A gut feeling."

The gentleness of Alice's gesture and her tender heart could not convey the spoken words that just did not want to form on Hermione's lips. With the shock that had entered her body, she just about managed to whisper the words. "Thank you, Alice."

"Of course," came Alice's soft reply, "may I sleep here with you tonight? I am not comfortable sleeping in the dark, alone…"

Hermione nodded, and the girls fell asleep next to each other while holding hands. It was fortunate that Alice had asked that question when she did because Hermione would not have known how else to ask Alice to help her fall asleep again. Howbeit her adjustments to this time, she was afraid. Afraid to fall into the same nightmarish hell of her dreams, afraid of what would happen, afraid of the possibility of her falling for the same mistakes and traps over and over again.

•

October 31st was an unsettling one. Not because it was a Friday, or because it was Samhain nor was it because Hermione felt restless, but because James and Sirius had managed to do the impossible. They had managed to convince Hermione to go to Hogsmeade with them.

She had sputtered and argued for over half an hour when they first came to her with the proposal. She argued that it was 'unsafe' for her 'that she wasn't allowed outside because Dumbledore said so' but each and every one of her explanations were immediately shot down.

And here she was, walking down the slope into the village with woollen mittens and her trusty black cloak keeping her warm against the bitter sting of almost winter. The sky was clouded and grey – it looked ready to snow again.

Hermione did not know how they had slipped past the all-seeing eye of Professor McGonagall, but they had succeeded.

The roads were slippery as the snow crunched under her boots. One of her arms interlocked with James and the other with Sirius, keeping her steady and warm. She laughed heartily at their jokes and listened attentively to their explanations of the origins of Hogsmeade. She did not dare tip them off that she had already known all the secret passageways to the village and all the quaint little shops that could offer her a nice cup of tea as well as a beautiful view of the castle.

The boys had taken her attention from her musings away once more and had dragged her jokingly to Honeydukes, then to Gambles&Gabes and lastly to Zonko's before meeting Remus and Peter at the Three Broomsticks.

As she entered the pub, her eyes met the familiar decoration on the walls. The mighty red dragon of Wales, the magical unicorn of Scotland and the imposing lion of England, contrasted beautifully against their rightful coloured flags. The Tudor roses, thistles, shamrocks and daffodils were placed strategically in small glass vases on each table – representing Great Britain's unity between the Wizarding World with that of the Muggle one.

She saw that Peter and Remus were already sitting in a booth tucked away into the corner of the pub. Remus noticed her first and waved enthusiastically at her. She answered his enthusiasm with a small smile of her own and weaved around the many tables in the pub, occupied by disgusting and vile men who were leering at her as she walked past.

She had braided the top part of her hair today, leaving the rest hanging loosely as her black cloak swished against her legs. Her rosy cheeks and her fierce expression attracting too much attention for her comfort.

She tried not to show that it fazed her. It seemed that Hermione Delacour has had this problem from when she was nine years old. The younger girl had learned to utilize their weakness to her advantage. However, Hermione, as she was now, a merge of a younger and an older and different girl, could not understand why the body of Hermione Delacour had attracted so much attention. In this past as well now. She was not a Veela, she did not have the distinguishable characteristics that would categorize her as such.

She slid into the booth, hiding immediately in the corner against the wall before turning to greet Peter. She felt James slide on to the bench next to her and saw Sirius sitting across, immediately starting to talk in hushed whispers to each other, an affectionate smile gracing her lips. Suddenly, a current of infatuation and longing surged through her body, making her shiver. Hermione looked away and locked eyes with Remus, meeting his inquiring gaze, as she cursed herself for her treacherous feelings. She took a deep breath and hastily tried to collect herself.

"I see that you have already ordered." Hermione's mouth twitched as she nodded at Remus and Peter's drinks.

Peter blushed a little, "I do hope you don't mind."

"Oh no, I don't," she replied soothingly, "I was just teasing."

"Oh." Peter looked down at his drink and blushed even more. The colour on his cheeks clashed horribly against his mousy brown hair and pale skin. Hermione did not know whether he was so vehemently blushing because of his discomfort, shyness or something else.

Remus turned his head towards her once more, looking serious, "How are you feeling, Hermione, honestly?"

Hermione stopped with her fidgeting. She did not even know that she was looking at her hands. She nodded a little while still looking at her lap, hoping that Alice had not gone against her promise yesterday and had told them about her restless nights. "I am. Adjusting that is. It has taken a while and the process is slow, but I am getting there." Her eyes cast downwards to the table as she spoke and slowly peeled her gloves from her hands.

And it was true what she had said – she was adjusting fairly well. She had learned to watch when nobody was looking, analysing every facial expression, every word, every wave of their hand. There were always underlying meanings behind people's words. Whether they had good intentions or bad. She had understood from past mistakes that not everything is as it seems, but she was always afraid, so afraid.

However, to blend in meant that she had to change. She had to get 'rid', or tried to, of her French accent, she had to learn to use the innocence that clouded this body of the former Miss Delacour. She had to be able to use it to her advantage, to use the lessons Apolline had taught the younger girl. And as a consequence, she needed to ignore the leering and the staring of the vile man in the pubs and on the streets.

She padded the inside of her robes covertly, feeling if the little black book she had written in, was still there. The words that had flowed from her pen, safely hidden away in the pages, were never to return to the surface again.

 _It was late at night and Hermione was still looking at the embers of the fire. Looking as the wood disintegrated into ash. The fire should have brought her warmth and comfort but all she could think was of how this castle was her home, yet, not at all. It was a physical representation of what was and the 'what would be', totally destroyed._

 _She loosened the grip on her the little black book that she was clutching against her hands. Her body moved gently from the couch to the ground, her eyes not leaving the burning embers. She looked down at the wooden table and saw a quill and inkpot standing not too far from her. Her hand lifted slowly towards the utensils uncertainly. It was after all not her own. But she was not stealing it, right? She would just use it and then put it back._

 _As her hesitant fingers made contact with the glass inkpot containing the ink, her hands hastily unscrewed the top and dipped the quill into the ink. Writing her words quickly and desperately against the crumbled paper of her little book, lest she forgets her thoughts._

 _'_ _The choices I want to make need deep and heavy consideration. One misstep and it could all fall down. One misstep and the entire structure of my plan, of this world, will crumble to the ground. It will crumble to the ground like no other. Swallowed up in the most vicious of cycles, in the most vicious of earths. Leaving it no more than a pile of ash._

 _The world that is so amazingly glorified, poses both a threat as well as heavenly relief. Mother Nature, that build us up, that nurtures us also has the power to bring us to our knees. She has the power to demolish the very being we are._

 _Do you know understand why I hesitate?_

 _And sometimes – sometimes in the worst of moments, I let my rationality slip away. The one thing that I thought I could always count on. Slipping like grains of sand through the crashing waves, swirling and tumbling. The times that my rationality slips, is the one time that I feel utterly out of control._

 _I have those feelings more times than I would like to admit. Don't we all? Don't we all sometimes feel as if the world around us will come to an abrupt end if we don't do something at this very moment?_

 _That is the feeling that resides in me. The feeling that rushes through my veins, that mingles with my blood. And that brings me back to my first point. Consideration and rationality think that they own a human being, but like the devil himself, it blinds me._

 _It blinds me and makes me think things that I would never have done before. So, help me, Merlin. What have I done, what will I do, what does this world make me do? Help me understand – please! Or the Wizarding World will crumble and perish into the unknown as the Romans once screamed and shouted in anguish, 'The Empire has fallen!"_

 _As she put the last period at the end of her sentence, her eyes widened. What had she done? Her hands started shaking. Everyone could see it now. She would be called crazy, she would be shunned, tucked away into Saint Mungo's and never to be seen again._

 _Her eyes flitted along the dried ink and started looking frantically for her wand. She turned towards the couch and inserted her hand between the cushions feeling between the soft material. She overturned every pillow before finally finding her Vinewood wand._

 _Hermione waved it around her little book and watched with relief as the once written words, seeped into the parchment, hiding away, forever from prying eyes, until she said otherwise._

"Are you really French?"

"Peter," interrupted a shocked Remus, "you can't just ask her that."

"Well, I would hope so, Peter," she joked, "otherwise I would need to have a strong word with my mum and dad."

"Would you mind saying something in French," asked Peter with his wide eyes. She looked at him, and that glint, that very same glint that she was afraid of, consumed his eyes, causing a chill to run down her spine.

"Of course," she answered, "what would you like me to say?"

Peter looked like his deepest wish was granted, "Oh! What about, no... Ehmm… Could you say something along the lines of who you are?"

"Yes," Hermione replied hesitantly, "Mon nom est Hermione. Je suis quinze ans et mon couleur préféré est lumière bleue. J'ai une petite soeur et mon anniversaire est le 2 mai," Hermione hesitated a second, "It means that my name is Hermione and that I am fifteen, my favourite colour is light-blue. I said that I have a little sister and that my birthday is on the second of May."

"Wow! That was beautiful! The way you said those words," exclaimed Peter.

"Thank you," Hermione replied unsurely. She did not know what to think of his reaction. He was acting too excited to hear a different tongue, to hear _her_ speak a different tongue. Maybe it was just her suspicion, but she found it odd.

If she would not have been so absorbed in her own feelings, she would have noticed the man at the end of the bar, across the pub, gently lift his sleeve and press his wand into his snake tattoo; whispering the betraying words and leaving right after, "She's here my Lord, I found her."

At last, she saw Rosmerta approaching. The barmaid walked up to the table looking bored. "What can I get you?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow at the woman's behaviour. This was not the woman she remembered, but then again, everyone was different than she remembered. The boys ordered their drinks, yet the woman never looked from her notepad at the people sitting at the table.

"One Butterbeer, please." Hermione's soft reply caused the woman to stop writing on her notepad. Slowly, the woman's eyes raised to Hermione's face. The silence at the table was stiffening. The boys looked at each other with confusion, they had never seen Rosmerta act this way.

"Excuse me, do you mind you repeating that again?" The woman asked innocently but with a struggle.

"I asked if I could have a Butterbeer," Hermione replied softly.

"Oh," the woman asked, her voice suddenly changing.

Rosmerta clicked her pen and put the notebook with it in the pocket of her apron. The woman hastily looked left and right before swiftly putting her hands on the table and leaning forward, her face in Hermione's.

"What do you think you are doing here, wench. You are not welcome here. Did you think that I could not recognize your accent?" Rosmerta's face turned from frighteningly innocent to an animal ready to attack its prey. "Did you think that I would let your pretty little face into my Pub? Did you think that you were welcome here, you French whore?" The barmaid's voice rose as her words became more hateful.

The barmaid turned to the boys and Hermione watched as Peter shivered in fear and how Remus, Sirius and James sat looking wide-eyed at the maid. "Do you know what you've done? Do you know what you have done to this town? You have put me, yourselves and everyone in this pub in danger. She cannot be here. She will ruin us all." Rosmerta's voice wavered in fear.

The woman's head spun to Hermione as she heard her gasp faintly.

"Get out," she hissed, "Get out of my sight."

Hermione vaguely heard James and Remus come to her defence, but she did not hear anything. She could only feel as she was being dragged out of her seat by the maid, by her hair, across the pub. The men and women that were looking on in fear, cowered at the girl and swiftly looked away from the scene. Her hip banged against the tables and drew blood from the sharp edges as she was non-to carefully hauled through the pub. She cried out as she tripped over a foot and stumbled to her knees.

"Get up!" Rosmerta pulled her hair painfully but Hermione had no chance to react as she was already being pushed to her feet. The maid threw the door open and turned the girl around. Her hand raised towards Hermione's jaw and grabbed her fully. Blue met Blue.

"You have to run. They are coming. Run while you can. I'm sorry, this is the only way I can save us. I am so sorry," The woman whispered softly, only for her to hear. The next thing she knew what the sharp sting of her cheek and a distant sound of flesh meeting flesh.

A warm liquid seeped from her lip. Hermione's fingertips touched her lip shakily as she turned around and walked dazedly towards the carriages. Belatedly, she heard James and Remus call her name, but before she could turn around and look at them, she bumped into a magical barrier.

Her eyes lifted slightly and looked shocked at the opaque and shimmering silver wall. The fingers that were once by her lips touched the wall. However, when her fingers made contact with the magical barrier, she was being blown back. She twisted and turned through the air and landed roughly in the middle of the street. She wanted to break down but couldn't. Everything ached. Her knees, her hip, her head, her hands.

The black-cloaked men arrived at the scene before anyone could warn each other, before they could flee, causing mass hysteria as one, in particular, screamed above the children's terrified shrieks.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are girlie. We know you are here – THERE IS NO POINT IN HIDING." The ugly man grabbed the nearest girl with golden hair by the jaw and threw her to the ground as he saw that she was not the one.

Hermione crawled to the nearest bin and raised herself slowly, her legs weak. She had to get away, she had to warn Dumbledore. She stood only for a second before being grabbed by the arm and roughly pulled into an alleyway, a brown, almost black cloak, giving her any indication of who it was before her vision was obstructed. She did not get the chance to see the person's face, she could only struggle as she felt their hands on her.

"Don't be foolish, child," she heard the gruff voice, a man, say, "Keep silent."

The black-cloaked men formed a human barrier around the old village, preventing anyone's chance of escaping their wrath. The man who stood smirking sadistically at the people's fear began speaking once more, "We will not hurt you unless you are hiding the girl. Bring her forward and no harm will be done to you."

His soft but threatening voice carried in the now silent town. No one dared to speak. Not to say that they had seen her nor to say that they hadn't – nothing. They did not tell, not because they wanted to protect her, but out of fear of angering the men.

"SPEAK OR I WILL STRIKE YOU DOWN.''

The villagers kept stubbornly quit and waited with bated breath as the man raised his wand. The bright red colour collided with a boy of tender age, no older than eight.

He must have been one of the inhabitants, but Hermione could not know for certain, she did not see anything, she only heard. She only heard as his still childish voice, untouched by manhood, screamed and cried for them to stop.

She listened as the people came into action and fled into their homes or away from the village. She hoped beyond that merit that the boys would escape down the secret passageways in Honey Dukes. She hoped that they made it out alive. None of them had ever experienced something so tragic and the only thing she could do now was hope.

She saw as the boy who had been struck earlier, was catapulted by a green spell into the opening of the alleyway they were hiding in.

The unknown man who had pushed Hermione into the alleyway and against the wall cradled her head gently against his chest. Her body trembled out of fear. She did not know who this man was or why he treated her the way he did. "You cannot go out there, Hermione, it is too dangerous," she heard him say. Yet again, all she could do was stare listlessly at the dead body of a young boy. A boy who looked no older than Fleur.

She shut her eyes tightly as the black-cloaked men started questioning people – torturing them. She had thought that she would be ready. She thought that she would be strong enough to battle those men. Alas, here she was, recoiling in a corner and held by a stranger.

The bravado she had displayed at the meeting with the Order had fled her body the moment the maid had struck her and thrown her from the pub. She had threatened her father that she would put her life on the line to protect them, she had been a petulant child. Yet faced with the situation, she could do nothing but cower in a corner like a traitor.

She trembled as felt the roughness of the man's body and beard as he spoke into her ear, "Hermione, listen to me," he struggled as she tried to move out of his grasp, "Listen to me, Hermione," the man hissed.

"Your body is not who you are. You need to shed it like a snake sheds its skin. Leave it forgotten behind you but never forget who you are. The rest of the world will not. So, wear it like armour and it will never be used against you. You are stupid, yes, but now, be smart. Forget the maid, forget her words, forget the bystanders, focus on the now." He squeezed her even further into his chest as she whimpered, whether from the sounds around her or because he squeezed his body so tightly to her own.

She struggled again against his grasp but this time to see his face. "Who are you," Hermione demanded with a shaky voice.

He grabbed her hood with his left hand and roughly pulled it over her head, "We don't have time," he looked at the other side of the street and saw the black-cloaked men running by, "Keep quiet and follow me. We can make it."

At that moment Hermione did not know whether he was assuring himself or her, followed him nonetheless. They walked quickly around the large bins in the street and Hermione almost tumbled over her feet into the foul mix of trash, snow and piss.

As she almost misstepped, she grabbed the hilt of her hidden wand and pulled it covertly to her side. She felt her feet move forward without a command, the screams the only focus in her mind.

The hand around her wrist was big and calloused and felt heavy around her tender skin. Her confidence rose and in a foolish notion pulled her arm back with force and came eye-to-eye with the man. His hauntingly grey eyes looked at her in panic and anger. It was as if he was here against his will. Shocked, she watched as his hood revealed more of his face.

He must not have been older than thirty and he looked familiar. Her eyes widened in shock as the name slipped past her lips, "Elphias Dodge." This was the man that had called her ignorant, that had questioned her capability during the meeting with Order. Yet, here he was, defending her. She looked down to the ground as shame flooded her body.

His eyes became icy and with his free hand, pushed his hood back over his head while swearing softly and silencing her with his wand – as he should have done in the first place, "You will grab onto my hand and you will not let go, understand? Do not let go unless you wish to die. We are going to Madam Puddifoot's. Behind the store is a ledge to an underground system of tunnels that lead to Hogwarts. We are going there, understood?"

Elphias Dodge looked imploringly at her, "Once we are there, you are going to run and not look back. You will only need to run straight, no turns, nothing. You will arrive on the third floor and you are going to go to the Headmaster's office."

She nodded in understanding and looked at the square they would need to cross. "You will have no need to worry, Hermione. I'm going to make you invisible. They are not going to attack me, but if need be, be prepared to run."

He looked at the square and muttered something about wasting time. She had no time to process before she felt his prickling magic slide over her body as he entered the square. He kept to the walls of the houses and into the shadows. There were two Death Eaters and a whole lot of children running around in panic. Yet the dark figure of Elphias Dodge slipped past all of them unnoticed. The once white snow, that had laid on the ground like a comforting blanket, was now a horror-filled red.

They slipped into another alleyway before opening the door of the store close to Madam Puddifoot's. Hermione panted in the now silent shop and watched as Elphias Dodge willed his magic to darken the windows and to hide her from the living.

And yet, the screams of the people had followed her, even now, when she was safely hidden away. She heard them in her mind. The screams of the people outside on the streets, the screams of the children at Beauxbatons, of the warriors of Hogwarts, her friends and her family.

"Why did you help me?"

The man stopped his inspecting of the streets and looked at the fragile girl in front of him. He could not understand how the girl that so vehemently defended her own strength could stand here and look so utterly shattered.

"I got sent."

"By whom?"

He sighed frustrated and wanted to swear in her face for being so incredibly stupid. "We will have to wait here a little bit before going further," he paused to inspect if no one was in the store with them before continuing, "The Order has requested for me to watch your back."

"I did not want to, of course, but then your mother came to me, begging me to do it, to follow the Order's request. And here I am, defending an incapable girl like you," he responded at last.

The shame in her intensified. She had stood there, before the Death Eaters, completely petrified. Hermione had not expected that she would freeze up. She was so convinced that she would be strong and able to defend herself that she had never doubted it; not even for a second. Yet somewhere along the line, she must have forgotten that despite all the battles in her life, that the body she was in was still of a young girl, susceptible to fear. She had acted foolish and childish since her arrival. The Hermione Granger in her had fought, constantly, for dominance in this new body, while the Hermione Delacour simpered in fear as the girl she now portrayed.

The hormones of the young girl caused Hermione to react without rationality and was controlled by her emotions, instead of letting the twenty-year-old inside her control the actions and words that spilt past her mouth. This is what had caused all her failures, why she had acted like a petulant child when she did not get her way. But how could she justify this new revelation when Hermione Delacour had saved her and her friends during the massacre at Beauxbatons and had helped them to survive on instinct and magic when they were all alone in the woods, hiding away?

Her eyes shot up in fear to Elphias Dodge as she heard the shouts of the Death Eaters coming closer, "We have no time."

"You have to send for him. You have to send Dumbledore a Patronus, Hermione."

His words cut through her terror and in a haste, she raised her wand. "Expecto Patronum."

The bright white light filled the entire store and she whispered in horror to the white mist in front of her as she realised what she had done. The bright white light filled the entire shop and shone through the cracks of the walls and windows outwards, ready to attract attention.

She looked in utter shock and despair at Dodge. "You have done correctly, Hermione." She could not believe the words that had gotten out of his mouth. "You are finally starting to catch up."

He walked past her and grabbed her tightly around her arm before dragging her to the end of the store where they stowed all the products. She heard as the shouts of the Death Eaters come nearer.

Elphias Dodge opened the door and they were met with a harsh wind that had not been there before. They ran across the streets, past Madam Puddifoot's front entrance and suddenly skidded into a side street. They passed the corner and saw the ledge. Hermione raised her wand and uttered the first spell she had ever learned, the first spell that was the catalysis to her and Harry's friendship, "Alohomora."

The ledge opened without a sound and she stood at the ledge before turning around and climbed down the ladder, into the narrow passageway leading to the tunnels. She stopped halfway as she noticed Elphias Dodge did not move to go into the tunnels with her.

"What are you doing. Why are you not coming with me," she whispered harshly, "Quick!"

Elphias Dodge turned his head towards the sounds of the approaching men and back to her. His lips kissed his teeth before hissing to her, "Go. Do what I said. Go to the Headmaster's office!"

"No, come with me," she pleaded desperately.

"I said go!"

Her brow scrunched up in concern of the man who had helped her, saved her, but listening nonetheless as she saw his desperation. She quickly resumed her climb down the ladder into the dark tunnel. With a dull thud, the latch fell close and she was surrounded in darkness and echoing silence.


End file.
